Troubled Waters
by MilkywayScribbles
Summary: Alleged thefts, rumors, letters, courting— they all went hand in hand in the political climate of royalty. But a powerful book, mysterious deaths, and a ghost? Something was remiss. Someone was pulling the strings. And someone needed to find out why. Post Evolution-R.
1. Beware

**Author's Note: **Happy Halloween, everyone! And welcome! :) I am ecstatic to publish my first ever long multi-chapter Slayers fanfic!

As of late, mystery shows/classic novels (such as _Father Brown_, _Hinterland_, _Wuthering Heights_, _The Woman in White_, _Rebecca, _etc.) have inspired me to write a drama mystery myself. And what better way than to combine two of my greatest loves on Halloween night?

I have been toying with plotting out this story since spring and have finally decided to take a whack at it. I am both nervous and excited to write in new territory for our heroic misfits as well as share this story with you all. This story will have a good dusting of comedy (as there always is in _The Slayers_) and romance (traditional pairings i.e. Zelgadis/Amelia and Lina/Gourry). I will also be featuring a plethora of original characters integrated into the plot.

In keeping tradition with typically published novels, I will try my best to have chapters between 5,000 to 8,000 words max. I cannot promise how often updates will be provided, but I will try to follow a schedule of sorts.

**GENRE: **Drama/Mystery

**PG13 CONTENT: **Rated T for adult situation, minor language, violence, descriptive imagery, and crude humor.

**DISCLAIMER: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

And many thanks to my beta reader's continuous support! :) You are a ray of positivity and encouragement, my friend. I couldn't do this without you. And of course, thank you, my readers, for reading. Enjoy the start of this spooky tale! Mwah! ;)

* * *

**Troubled Waters **

Chapter 1

**Beware**

"_Dill brand_!"

_BOOM!_

"That should be the last of them!"

Once again, the spell had worked its wonders.

A trail of raging soldiers was left paralyzed and fried from the epic blow. Farewell, Dabuon!

Fleeing the outskirts of the city, Lina tightened her grip on the reins and thrusted a sturdy slap onto the horses. Beside her sat Gourry, fighting the uneven terrain of the dirt road to remain balanced. The bumpy ride nearly caused him to slip from his seat; but much thanks to his sword-fighting skills, his swiftness was enough to catch himself before tumbling into a cloud of swerving dust.

"Can't believe we got out of there with all this ice cream!" the swordsman exclaimed as he straightened himself up in his seat.

"I can't believe we got away unscathed. _Period_."

The voice originated from the back of the wagon, buried among plentiful clumps of hay. Hungering for air, Zelgadis's lungs were blessed with oxygen. Straws of the dried grass stuck from his wiry hair, his displeasure of having to ride in the back lividly exposed.

"You nearly destroyed a fraction of the city," he lectured to the sorceress. "So much for being subtle."

"It's not like they made it easy for me," Lina replied, glancing at Zelgadis, before turning her attention back onto the road. "Besides, Phil should know better. If he wanted to taste Ralteague's ice cream for himself and know what has been going on behind closed doors, then he should have been aware we'd manage to ruffle a few feathers."

"Oh. I thought Zelgadis was going to say because you were involved Lina, then, of course, there'd be destruction," Gourry piped up.

"True," the chimera nodded. "To both I mean."

Lina narrowed her eyes at her male companions. What did they expect? Sneaking around would lead to trouble one way or another. Considering how careful they were, Lina was proud of what they had uncovered… and managed to get away with.

"But I think Phil was after a sample," Zelgadis reminded, staying on topic. "Just a _sample_. Not gallons!"

All they needed to do was go and purchase a single vanilla ice cream cone, place it inside Seyruun's newly invented traveling cooler, and be off on their merry way. Well, that was the original plan until Lina had suggested a more 'sufficient way' to enact their deception. The proposal was an underhanded attempt at sneaking into the shop, to see the process of the ice cream's path from conception to birth. As ridiculous as the entire mission was, Zelgadis couldn't argue with her. There was a concrete sense in seeing how Ralteague ran their processing of the cold goods from the inside. After all, with talk growing on the comparison of Seyruun versus Ralteague ice cream (and how eerily close the taste was) it was only fair to investigate. Not that is was a crime to make ice cream… but _copyright_ was. If they had stolen Seyruun's secret recipe than they deserved to be snuffed out.

But to steal _gallons_ worth of ice cream... that wasn't on the itinerary. Nor was making a scene. Hence: greed triumphed subtly.

"We need something to nourish us on the way back to Seyruun," Lina argued. She wasn't in the mood and would _never_ be for any rabbit or squirrel strew as much as Gourry boasted about his grandmother's prized recipes.

"Besides," she continued with a playful grin, "it gives us a chance to refresh our palates."

"I thought the ice cream was pretty good," Gourry interjected.

"Yeah, but _as good _as Seyruun's ice cream?" Lina emphasized.

A thoughtful hand stroked the swordsman's chin, as if there was a dire matter calling for deep thinking. "Hmm... That would require another tasting," he decided.

Lina smiled and looked over her shoulder. "See? What did I tell ya, Zel?"

Zelgadis scoffed. "I just hope Phil finds your reasoning as comical as you two do."

Knowing Phil, he probably would. Admittedly, without shame no doubt, Lina had intended on keeping one of those barrels of ice cream for herself and Gourry. There was another for Phil to sample, to test, whatever he wanted to do with it. The extra barrel was merely a reward for their efforts. And, aside from Gourry, she didn't plan on sharing it with anyone else either.

Not that Lina was concerned of Zelgadis helping himself to dessert while riding in the back. He was a rather finicky creature when selecting his meals, and when he did eat, it was an often-rare occurrence. She wasn't sure if it was just the lack of a ravenous nature or his chimeric state at works, altering his basic human functioning. Sarcastically, Lina surmised he had absorbed enough nutrition from the sun's beating rays that day to equal the respectable amount of food consumption a normal human body required.

"Relax, will ya?" she waved, unmoved by her friend's rising anxiety. "No one in Ralteague is going to think we did this for Phil. The soldiers are way behind us now anyhow. With the horses we'll be in Seyruun by tomorrow."

"You missed the road to Seyruun a few miles back because of those soldiers!" Zelgadis griped. "Now, what are we going to do? It'll take us twice as long to get back and I've been away from Seyruun long enough as it is."

As of late, he had done some diplomatic errands for Prince Phil in between investigating leads into his cure. Upon his return to Seyruun, he was whisked away yet again. Lina and Gourry had answered a letter from Phil, who requested Zelgadis tag along. His keen eye for observation was to be used, among being the sensible voice of reason. Normally, he wouldn't have minded only it was that he was dog-tired from his previous journey and that he was expected to leave in the middle of the night. He hadn't even gotten to see Amelia nor wish her goodbye, who was looking for him the following morning… Not that he knew indefinitely. He simply assumed. Not that he cared or anything…

"I'm sure there's another path to Seyruun, Zelgadis," Gourry said optimistically. His inner child was indulged as a butterfly fluttered by. He smiled. "In the meantime, we can enjoy a little extra scenery."

"Gourry's right, Zel," Lina concurred, to ease his already dispositioned peeved state. "There's nothing to get all worked up about. Before you know it, we'll be in Seyruun and you'll go back to following Amelia everywhere."

"I don't _follow _her everywhere out of habit or fun if that's what you're implying," Zelgadis snapped. "I'm her bodyguard. It goes with the paycheck. I have to get paid somehow."

"Phil must be giving you some _pretty hefty_ paychecks to get you to stick around," she continued with a sly grin. And she'd elbow him with an all-knowing look if her arms could magically reach that far back. She hadn't discovered a spell for stretching body parts at incredible distances _yet_.

Zelgadis looked down. He wasn't going to complain. Phil had provided him with quite the banquet of accommodations. Knighted, he was ensured with a replacement magically infused sword, his own room, a regular monthly payment (of course), and a black stallion, whom he named Magnus. Spending time with Amelia was a bonus. A tedious one at times given her schedule and responsibilities but she herself was never a bother.

"The benefits are adequate," was all he said. Another thud against the road set him into a tizzy of irritation. "And will you slow down?" he snapped, grappling the side of the wagon. "We're a reasonable distance from the city now."

Zelgadis's attention broke by the sound of sloshing liquid behind him. Twirling, he quickly tore through layers of loose hay, only for his glove-covered hands to be saturated in a sweet-smelling sticky substance. He made a face and waved his hands, shaking off wet strands of hay. He soon discovered long-running drips of cream leaking from wooden barrels.

"Uggh," he groaned in annoyance.

"What is it now?" Lina said from the front of the wagon, in a voice that resembled a fatigued mother over her fussy child's peculiarities.

"So much for carting around all this extra ice cream," Zelgadis grimaced.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because it's melting."

"What?!"

Hair stood up on the back of the sorceress's neck, her temper flaring like a heatwave across burned milky skin. At the sound of her cry, the horses halted, neighing and stamping their hooves wildly into the air. Swirls of dust circulated around them, ceasing Lina's tirade into a coughing fit.

Gourry quieted his coughs as he abandoned the stopped wagon, coming to the aid of the restless jumping horses.

"All right, all right. Whoa, boys!" the swordsman eased. Gentle fingers graced their foreheads, eventually calming their spooked nerves. Once the horses were pacified by his reassurance, Gourry chuckled, looking to his comrades as the dust settled around them.

"Guess Phil we'll have to try ice cream soup. Hey!" He snapped his fingers. "There's an invention I'm sure Ralteague hasn't thought of yet!"

A slit side-glance was given in the swordsman's direction. "More like stolen yet," Lina muttered, suppressing another cough.

She then lowered her head and scrunched it between her tense risen shoulders. She knew this would, inevitably happen. That was the risk of bringing home something that required immediate temperature control. The small sample was safeguarded but the barrels of ice cream were on their way out. Still, food failing to remain in its purposeful state…. It just seemed too wasteful! Considering how many spells she had cast to make their getaway Lina had worked up a well-deserved appetite.

"Oh, well," she eventually sighed, shrugging her displeasure off. "What can you do?"

Maybe the ice cream would turn to soup (or had already done so), but there was still a chance of preserving it for tasting purposes. As Zelgadis pointed out (in his own congenial way) she had been so focused on escaping the Ralteague officials she had missed the original path that would take them back to Seyruun. If she dared to turn around Lina was certain they would be met with swords, handcuffs, a few amateur flare arrows, and vigilante speeches of justice. Then again, Amelia was not with them, so perhaps the speeches wouldn't be too long-winded and flowery…. Still, it wasn't a risk the sorceress was willing to take.

With another slap against the horses, the driving commenced. Lina's eyes dashed from side to side, scanning the horizon up ahead. By this time, the horses' neighs had quieted incredibly as they rolled down the road, distancing themselves further from the city. As the galloping of hooves slowed so did their minds. Everywhere a pair of eyes turned was the witnessing of fading colors. Leaves dropped from the skies, their withering states decaying into muddy graves. Autumn was coming. Slowly, but surely. The days of extended sunshine, boiling temperatures, and flourishing flowers were starting to bid their goodbyes and would eventually, disappear altogether.

"There's gotta be a path somewhere coming up that will lead us back to Seyruun," Lina said to herself, still scoping the area. Her eyes then sparked with anticipation. "Look!" she pointed up ahead. "There's a path."

Across a trickling creek, was what may have been an answer to their prayers. The opening to the found path was a narrow black tunnel, shrouded by monstrous half-naked arms of trees and an unknown welcoming of ghostly quietness. There was no telling what lay ahead. But off to the side, a short distance away from the beguiling path, stood a weathered stranger.

Without declaration, Gourry helped, putting his keen eyesight to work. "Hey, there's a lady up ahead!" the swordsman proclaimed. "Why don't we ask for directions?"

Squinted amber eyes called for a quick examination of the oncoming presence. Swiveling like an owl's rotating head, showcased a woman. Against the sun's dimming rays, silver as starlight danced upon her head in curly disorder, her soul concealed behind tattered dark draping hidden beneath a crepe exterior of pronounced bones. Her eyes were comparable to sunken rocks in solidified mud, with lines of century-old trees below. A sharp perch settled at the center of her face and thin lips drooped as if etched in. A carved staff was clenched in her grasp, with what looked like a serpent's head sculpted on top. By looks alone, she was the type of person who must have been the inspiration behind: "I'd turn back if I were you".

"She doesn't exactly seem like the friendly type, Gourry," Lina deduced.

"You can't judge a book by its cover, Lina," Gourry wagged his finger. "If we thought that way about Zelgadis, we would have never talked to him and become friends with him."

"Thanks, Gourry," Zelgadis said sourly.

"I think you're forgetting how we met Zelgadis," Lina reminded.

If her memory served her correctly, which it did, Zelgadis relentlessly pursued them for the Philosopher's Stone (hidden inside an Orihalcon Statue); not inviting them out for tea and friendly mindless discussions of the weather. Aside from that important fact, neither she nor Gourry found themselves judgmental of Zelgadis's appearance. Curious perhaps, but not terrified. This woman on the hand, well, she _looked_ terrifying. Not that Lina was afraid. If battling high-leveled monsters didn't scare her, then a creepy looking old woman was nothing to be concerned of…. Right?

She eventually sighed, seeing there was no other choice. "Well, I guess you make a point. Here goes nothing."

Worn wood beating against a rigid dirt road was prevalent to its audience. The wheels of the wagon moaned painfully with each slow foreboding turn. Drawing closer, an act of retaliation was at works. Above, high in the graying sky, a flap of ominous black wings led to violent swoops and dives inches away from unsuspecting heads. Lina was the first to look up, discovering a perturbed and temperamental raven. She ordered her comrades to duck for cover. Zelgadis protected his eyes with a raise of his arm as the instigator glided above his head.

He didn't understand what was happening; was this attack about territory or was it contaminated by a mad disease? As quick as it flew, the chimera felt sharp claws fail to nick his stone-like skin. Above his arm, Zelgadis furrowed, staring into eyes black as ink as if to imply a challenge would be a foolish choice on the bird's behalf. If it wasn't his silent warning for the bird to stand down and retreat, then it was the whistling that came from those thin lips. Still cawing at the trio, the raven flew to the shoulders of the woman, crouching itself down into her hunched aging shoulders.

Hobbling with her cane in hand, the old woman approached the wagon. Lina met her eyes and studied them. So, she had her own pet raven. How typical. Still, while she looked like the kind of person who would own ravens and at the same time, she also resembled the type to_ bake_ them into blood-filled puffy pies and feed them to unsuspecting weary travelers.

"Hey um, lady," Lina started carefully. Still on guard, she watched the raven from the corner of her eye. She swallowed uneasily. "Do you know if this path will get us any faster to Seyruun? We're kind of in a hurry."

The old woman fixed the redhead with a tight frown, gripping her cane with protruding bony digits and long stubby fingernails. "If you know what's good for you, you'd keep off that path," she advised, her voice rickety as an old rocking chair.

"Why? Are there wolves who inhabit the path or something?" Lina asked.

She knew both Ralteague and Seyruun had their own plentiful herd of cows (after all, how else would they be able to make their rivaling ice cream?). Wolves were the number one enemy when it came to herd animals. It seemed reasonable enough to deduce. And if that was the case, Lina had nothing to fear. She had experienced her fair share of wild animals and mystical creatures while traveling the globe. If there were no scheming monsters waiting to pounce, she had no hesitation in journeying onward.

"You'd wish," the old woman hissed between chipped stained pearls. She then motioned her head to the path. "Beware: he who betrays unparalleled eloquence shall suffer bedeviling penitence."

Lina made a face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you know what's good for you, you'd take heed of my advice," the old woman simply warned.

"How can we if we don't understand it?" Zelgadis remarked sharply.

Her pointed nose raised in their air, nostrils widening with a scrunch of her face. She scoffed under her breath. "A chimera man; don't see many of you often, do we, Ebony?" She somehow found this comical, chortling alongside the responsive bird's caw. She turned back to Zelgadis. "Tell me young man, do you believe in what lingers after death?"

Zelgadis wrinkled his nose, struggling to follow the chain of discussion. The offhanded comment about his appearance was enough to drive him into a tizzy. Nonetheless, he set it aside and just shrugged.

"Depends on what you're insinuating; are we talking about literal ghosts or the remnants of repercussions of the hereafter?" he retorted.

She released a smirk. "That's for you to decide."

With a confused and frustrated shake of her head, Lina acted on Zelgadis's behalf. Was this a scare tactic out of perverse fun? The ramblings of a twisted delusional individual? Or, the possibility Lina wasn't entertaining — was there treacherous danger ahead? Considering the urgency to return to Seyruun, they didn't have the time nor the mental energy for mind games and nonsensical riddles. After all, need they forget the urgency of preserving her—ahem! _The_ ice cream?

"Listen, lady, I don't know what you're exactly getting at, but does this path go to Seyruun or not?" Lina cut to the chase.

_Impetuous girl_, the old woman sneered. She fixed the sorceress with a cold stare and used her cane as a pointer. "Follow that path, and you shall be at the capital by morning. But take heed young travelers of what you might encounter. Remember: _Beware_."

"Uh, sure," Lina waved a hand of halfhearted thanks. "Whatever you say."

The old woman stayed not a minute longer. Within seconds, she commanded a ray wing and sped off into the sky. The raven followed with emanate caws as if echoing its master's forewarning. As the old woman distanced herself, her black cap became one in the same of her feathered friend's pronounced wings. Eventually, the pair became nothing more than two black specks upon a smoke-colored canvas.

Lina broke the silence, her mouth opening as she turned to her companions. "What the heck was that about?" she balked.

"Whatever she said, it's utter nonsense," Zelgadis resolved, his voice still lingering with irritation.

"I don't know," Gourry said slowly. "The way she talked kinda reminded me of someone back home."

Lina frowned and cocked an eyebrow. _Oh, this should be fun_. "Let me guess: the creepy old lady who lived in the back of the woods, had skinned animals hanging from her porch, who wouldn't talk to anyone, and was under suspicion for ongoing multiple missing person cases?"

Gourry fixed her with an odd look. He wasn't sure where Lina had dug up such a macabre assumption, but that certainly wasn't his line of thought. Considering how bright she was, he thought the answer was obvious.

"No," he simply said. "My grandmother."

Both of Lina's eyebrows rose. "The same one who made _squirrel stew_?"

Gourry folded his arms over his chest proudly. "Yep."

Lina slumped in her seat. _At least I was right about the dead animal hanging from the porch thing._

* * *

As the sun's rays took their bow for the evening, the welcoming of a cool breeze entered.

Normally, the breeze did not sweep on by. Instead, the winds grew stronger as the trio's journey continued, pressing into what was now a winding dimmed path. The trail was not exposed to fields of grass or fading wildflowers as they passed earlier. This place was kept away from the sun, ensnared by tall trees, overgrown shrubs, and thick prickly berry vines. There was just enough room for the wagon to wheel its way down, the wooden sides being scraped and screeching from the touch. When a clearing came into focus, Lina ordered the horses to come to a standstill.

"Why'd you stop?" Gourry asked.

He watched as the sorceress leaped off the step, examining the area before her. Lina kicked at the dirt, finding it to be impenetrable. Her eyes scanned the endless rows of trees. It wasn't an ideal camping spot, but at least it was hidden away. If she had traveled down the main path back to Seyruun as Phil had instructed, then there was a likely chance Ralteague officials would locate them. So, considering things, perhaps this was for the best. Stopping here meant they might only run into some hopping rabbits or pesky raccoons… or maybe a bear. Or a troll. She hadn't encountered a troll in what felt like ages. If anything, she could brush up on some flare arrows or fireballs. Just for kicks of course.

"I think this spot will do," the redhead surmised, turning to face the men. "Looks like this road hasn't been traveled in quite a while."

"How can you tell?" Gourry inquired, following her.

Lina pointed down. "Just look below your feet. There are no track marks from carriages; not even animal footprints embedded into the dirt."

"The branches are overgrown as well," Zelgadis noted, leaping off the wagon with ease.

"This place gives me the creeps," Gourry murmured. He turned his focus back on the redhead. "Do we have to camp here, Lina?" he asked in a voice that resembled an anxious child dragging his feet.

"I don't think we have a choice," the sorceress resolved. "This seems like the only place the Ralteague soldiers won't come looking for us."

If there was little to no evidence of animals about them Lina was certain no human was treading among their presence. Still, she couldn't help but wonder why this path kept people away.

By this time Zelgadis had wandered a short distance from his friends. He took note of the scenery and found himself unperturbed by its state. All he saw was woods. Nothing strange, unearthly, or formidable. He concluded there was nothing to beware of—

_THUMP!_

As Lina was about to instruct Gourry to fetch their tent from the wagon, Zelgadis abruptly called for her undivided attention.

"Lina. Over here!"

Okay, so he was still convinced there was nothing to beware of— other than what he bumped into. But the grass was tall and the branches that overhung in crisscross patterns made it difficult for even the tiniest bit of remaining daylight to shine through. He hadn't expected to come across this. Not here. Quiet, yes, tranquil, perhaps. In society, however, the woods were never a suitable resting place.

Lina and Gourry had rushed to his side. Zelgadis was on his knees, crouched as he closely scrutinized the strange finding among overgrown patches of grass.

"What?" Lina pressed, excited by the surprise in his voice. "What did you find, Zel?"

Slowly, the chimera moved the long strands of greenery away. There, staked into the hardened ground, were four weathered wooden crosses each etched with the capital letter P.

No flowers. No personal belongings left behind in memory of the deceased. It was as if they had been utterly forgotten. Alone in the middle of nowhere.

"Grave markers..." The sorceress's eyes narrowed. "This couldn't be... It must be."

* * *

Night came as fast as they made camp.

Sweet smoke from fallen cedar trees hung in the air as the fire grew stronger. Stars dominated every inch of the sky that their spectacular brightness outshined the dusting of darkening clouds. A constant gust of wind swayed the tree branches, creating a dissonant melody with the crackling burning wood. The song of nature and fire melded eerily with every snap, swish, and howl. It was a tune that no captor could forget. The horses— even with the ample helpings of carrots and apples Lina had hand-fed them— were restless. There was an unexplainable sensation in the air. A feeling that the path itself had a mind of its own.

As she sat down before the source of warmth, Lina listened to the rattling of leaves. If she had permitted her imagination to run amok, then she could have sworn the shaking was a disguise of lost voices whispering its way into the ears of its guests.

But she knew better, of course.

"Now I understand why that old woman was acting so strange," Lina started, watching the fire intensify as Gourry added another log to the thriving flames. "This road here is where the Payne family died."

"You mean, _right _on this road?" Gourry emphasized, pointing to the very dirt he was now settled upon.

Lina nodded.

"Wasn't it an accident?" Zelgadis interjected, seating himself on the opposite side of the fire.

Lina arched back with her hands behind her. She looked up at the stars. "Yeah. Like seven years ago."

"Wonder what happened to them," Gourry pondered, his eyes wandering over to the hauntingly dingy white grave markers as if something compelled him to.

Lina shrugged the mystery, the gloominess of the subject, claiming her eyes. "I don't know the full extent of how they died, other than it was some kind of freak accident. They were heading to Dabuon. No one seemed to understand why they took a path off the main road… Their deaths were sort of a weird coincidence given their station in society."

"I believe they came from Kalmaart. Didn't they run a successful business?"

A nod of confirmation was returned to the chimera. "The Payne family was prominent along the coastline of Kalmaart," the sorceress began to elucidate. "The head of the family, Sir Gilliame Payne, was a popular merchant in Mane. He imported and exported armor on behalf of several kingdoms for their military forces, but some say that was a front for his _real _business. Rumor tells, that he was a collector of sorts; finding and selling some of the rarest, and most valuable spell books known to mankind. Some even say he concocted spells himself."

"Makes you wonder what kind of spells would be in those books," Gourry mused out loud.

"Ones people would pay _anything_ to get their hands on," Lina emphasized. "Amplifying basic offense spells, acts of summoning, enchantments, transformations-"

"_Cures_?" Zelgadis interrupted.

Lina shrugged. "Possibly."

She witnessed the excitement in Zelgadis's eyes match the bright sparks of the searing flames. Any mysterious book or relic that held unlimited possibilities was an instant draw to the desperate mercenary. That being the case, Lina had no intention to rile him up and in doing so, send him on a wild goose chase based on rumors alone.

She found a twig and mindlessly tossed it into the flames. "It was never proven though," she clarified. "Just rumors. As far as I know, there was no evidence found when the Kalmaart government ceased their home after their deaths. Only that, the entire library looked like it had been ransacked. _Supposedly_, that is."

"It makes one wonder if the Payne clan was hiding something," Zelgadis concluded, carrying similar suspicions. "And why exactly they were traveling this path, to begin with."

"It's an interesting story to mull over, to say the least," Lina answered. "Man, if it was true, I would have _loved_ to get my hands on one of those books!" she exclaimed, now psyching herself up on the fanciful notions of the rumor mill. "Think about what could have been inside! There could have been translations from the Claire Bible."

"That would be something," Gourry agreed. He then proceeded to move to his right, his mouth turning into a frown as he picked up his battered sword. "Maybe one of those books could have told me where to get a new sword."

Lina gave him a small encouraging smile. "Don't worry, Gourry. Phil promised if we did this for him, he would make sure you'd get a new sword. And hopefully, it will be one that will last more than a few rounds of sparring."

"They just don't make them like they used to," the swordsman mourned, his fingers scouring over his latest loss. "Seems like the blacksmiths are taking shortcuts."

"Doesn't surprise me," Lina said, unstirred. "They'll technically be making more money if they make the swords cheap. Knights and mercenaries will keep coming back for replacements. Kind of smart when you think about it from an economic standpoint."

"Yeah, but at whose expense?" Gourry cried.

"I'm not saying what they're doing is right to the consumer... Just sensible for the businessman."

"Guess the little man always gets the short end of the stick," he drooped.

Her sympathies were extended with a friendly pat on the back. She then proceeded to stretch her arms over her head, releasing a long noticeable yawn. Her eyelids were heavy, and she could feel the last of her energy slip for the day. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty bushed. I think I'm callin' it a night."

As she rose to her feet, Gourry opened his mouth, hesitated, but then decided to speak before he lost his nerve. "You're not afraid of going to sleep?" he blurted, almost stupefied.

Lina froze in her tracks. She perked in surprise at Gourry's question. "No," she started slowly with a concerned look. "Should I be?"

"Lina, you just got through saying an_ entire_ family mysteriously died on this road," the swordsman pointed out, knowing this was no minor detail to just brush off as nothing. "Doesn't that leave you feeling, I don't know… uneasy?"

The sorceress recognized the tragedy; however, she did not feel that constituted the need to worry.

"That was years ago, Gourry," Lina waved dismissively. "Besides, since when do you get easily scared? We've had our fair share of scary experiences; think about all the monsters we've fought or those ghosts that sorcerer summoned around when we first met or what happened at Artamay Tower. Now_ that_ was disturbing."

Gourry's eyes fell to the dirt beneath him. He was, to a fault, a blindingly brave man. He was comparable to a heroic knight, which on several occasions, he had been called just by physique alone. Even if he could set aside his own fears for the greater good of humanity, that didn't mean his 'spidey senses' weren't tingling. It was just… something he couldn't pinpoint with a definitive rebuttal. Having an advanced arsenal of vocabulary was never Gourry's strong suit, so explaining his feelings to Lina was bound to be complicated and headache-inducing.

"I don't want to disturb the already once disturbed," he eventually stated. "My grandma always told me that if something terrible happens and it's the reason behind someone's death, then it's likely that very place could be haunted."

_Again, with the crazy squirrel stew grandma? _Lina thought to herself.

For one thing, there were no vicious intentions that led to the Payne family's untimely death. At least to Lina's knowledge. And if there was, her forte wasn't in studying the deceased and their hauntings. So admittedly, she knew she couldn't argue if Gourry's grandmother's warnings were words of wisdom beyond the scope of mortal reality or silly superstition induced by rabid squirrel meat. Even so, she was not about to permit fear to overpower her. To accomplish a few hours of total shuteye, she would have to soothe her protector's anxieties, even if she felt the entire conversation was (as Zelgadis's favorite word next to idiot) _ridiculous_.

"Gourry. Think about it like this: you're not dancing on anybody's grave, are you?" Lina threw back.

The swordsman looked under his seated self. It was hard to tell. He had no prior knowledge of how the family died or if any remnants of their once physical vessels were scattered. He could confirm, however, that he was in no way in a jiving position or mood.

"I don't think so," was all he said.

"Then you have nothing to fear."

"But Lina, that old woman told us to 'beware'. Doesn't that concern you just a little bit?"

"She was just trying to scare us Gourry."

"But why?"

"Because she's just some crazy old bat who's exploiting a tragic event for her own sick pleasure!" she shouted, fists tight at her sides.

She agreed full-heartedly; the woman gave off unsettling vibes. And she could in no way blame Gourry for feeling the way he did. But she did not see it as a reason to start an hour-long conversation when there was clearly no evidence to support it.

"I wouldn't call her a credible source either," Zelgadis concurred evenly.

"See? Two against one," Lina insisted, gesturing towards the chimera. She then focused back onto the swordsman. "Now, that should settle this."

"So, you guys _really _don't think there are any ghosts wandering around here?" Gourry double-checked, still highly speculative.

"If there were, I think we would have sensed something by now," Lina contested.

"I don't think there's anything to worry about, Gourry," Zelgadis agreed. _As long as Lina is with us, I don't think anyone or anything is going to bother us._

If bandits had nearly gone extinct and monsters viewed her as a formidable foe, then he doubted wandering lost souls would take the gambit of challenging the infamous dragon spooker. Personally, because he did not require Lina for protection, Zelgadis wasn't scared of the idea of ghosts. As long as it wasn't an inner conflict within himself, he was an often-stoic creature.

"Well, if you guys say so…" Gourry yielded reluctantly.

A groan slipped from Lina's throat. "Just drop it already, will you?" she encouraged adamantly. "I'm telling you there's no boogieman running around here."

"Who said anything about a boogieman?"

Whether it was physical or mental exhaustion, Lina allowed her head to fall into her open palm. "Somehow I'm more tired than I was before," she said in a muffled voice. She then looked up. Her last ounce of energy had finally been zapped. "Now I _really_ need to get to bed. 'Night, guys."

"'Night, Lina," Gourry replied.

He watched as she walked away from the campfire, entering the tent as she pushed a flap of fabric back with her hand. It was common for Gourry to be the one to stand guard. Either it was because he was a superb swordsman, Lina expected him to do so, or it was the simple fact he saw himself as her protector.

But Gourry wasn't the only one who intended on remaining by the campfire. Zelgadis peered at the swordsman, observing the contagious phenomenon of yawning… and nervous twiddling of thumbs. Seeing how things were going for the night, Zelgadis figured he might as well intercede before Gourry started whistling or worse— _humming_.

"I'm not especially tired, Gourry," Zelgadis stated, catching his attention. "Go ahead and get some sleep. I'll wait up for the fire to go out."

Gourry blinked at the chimera. He was surprised by his consideration. "'Ya sure?"

"Yes."

The swordsman rose to his feet and gave a tired wave. "Okay. 'Night, Zelgadis."

The pace of Gourry's walk was steady with its first steps. But within seconds, his feet were whirling dervishes as he flung himself into the tent. From outside, Zelgadis could both see and hear a scuffle between Lina and Gourry. The fabric took punches and blows from the pairs' legs and arms. Space wasn't on their side, which meant cramped quarters for someone who was petite and thin as Lina and as full of height and muscular girth as Gourry. Most of the bickering was unintelligible until minor smacks and whacks were accidentally thrown onto one another.

"Gourry, watch your feet!" Lina yelled, twisting and turning for comfort. "They're right in my face! Uggh!"

"My feet?" Gourry defended. "Yours are the ones that smell!"

"Who said anything about smelly feet? And for the record,_ my_ feet…" Lina trailed off.

The silly banter was drowned out by crickets and eventually, silenced by the need for sleep.

As the fire began to dim, Zelgadis waited. He wasn't especially prepared to be kicked in the face with any pair of 'smelly feet'. He was, as he mentioned to Gourry, too awake to sleep. He assumed it was due to his restless mind. Recently, the chimera found difficulty in doing most anything.

Zelgadis stuck to his thoughts for inner conversation as the hour passed, watching fireflies for entertainment. He had become accustomed to the quietness when he traveled on his own. He had no complaints; often, he preferred being a lone wolf. He could focus solely on his goals without any distractions. As of late, however, he had been nothing but distracted.

To be honest with himself— which he never cared to do unless it provided him with a dose of instant gratification— he was not thrilled to be heading back to Seyruun despite how eager he was earlier that day. It was a confliction he had been fighting as of late. Perhaps taking this short trip to Dabuon had reignited the nomad within him. The freedom, the pleasure to go where he wanted, whenever he wanted was addictive to the mercenary. Wandering provided him with comfort.

Despite the great responsibility he carried for the safety of the royal family, there were no restrictions as to when he could leave. Phil had made it clear that the chimera could come and go as he pleased. Yet, as much as hungered to leave and search for his cure there was a part of him that would not remove itself from the palace's grounds. His mind urged him to push further into revealing this frustrating anomaly, but he refused to expel such energy where there was nothing to analyze. He was simply being… pragmatic. It seemed like there was a major occurrence going on daily with Phil and Amelia. There really was no perfect time to slip away for a few odd months and then there was the matter of a steady income to consider. If he wanted to travel, he would need the funds to do so. And by getting funds, that meant sticking around.

Even so, Zelgadis knew there truly was nothing to tie him down to make him stay, no one waiting for him, no one expecting anything from him...

Until recent feelings started to emerge from the depths of his mind. As Amelia's bodyguard, he witnessed firsthand how much she had changed. Not that she wasn't the same zany, thoughtful, helpful, fighter of justice she strived to be. But she had matured. She was more grounded, more careful in her thinking before jumping right into action. Her position and growing responsibilities required her to be. From where Zelgadis stood, Amelia was accepting her role as princess of Seyruun with graceful ease. Still, there were times where he couldn't stand to be witness to it anymore. And when he'd leave the palace, he was soured to watch her wave goodbye behind a brave smile and then to feel this indescribable longing to be back at her side. He didn't want to admit any of it consciously, which made his feelings and the simple notion to understand what he was experiencing unbearably complicated.

But why should he feel anything? What was the point when he already knew the answer that lay ahead? He was aware of what was expected of her, especially at her age. None of it was a shock. Whatever torch she carried for him, Zelgadis hypothesized it would extinguish sooner than later. Besides, he had his own needs to think about. Though he was working for the royal family, that did not mean he no longer strived for obtaining his original form. He wanted his human body back, and as of late, that desire had begun to burn more brightly than normal.

An abrupt gust of wind interceded the stillness of the night. Flames of the fire flickered against the invisible force, swiftly extinguishing them. The smoke of burnt wood filtered Zelgadis's nose, letting out a sneeze. His skin turned cold to the touch, craving his cape when before he couldn't wait to take it off. A bone-chilling shiver dispersed itself throughout his body; his weaponized form made such sensation nearly impossible. But the touch was so unearthly powerful as if the wind grazed itself down to his jawline with purposeful intentions. For a moment, he was paralyzed.

A violent shudder erupted and Zelgadis jumped up from the ground. He drew his sword out of its sheath. His eyes dashed from side to side, his chest rising and falling.

"Who's there?" he barked. His intense eyes scouted the greenery before him. He kept his arm raised with his sword in position, ready to defend.

The wind moved against the trees. Only this time it was deliberately slow, responding with nothing more than another fallen ballad of leaves. Zelgadis studied the movement of the leaves against the dark as if he could find something tangible within the invisible force.

He shook his head, annoyed at himself.

_Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing here. _

He closed his eyes and his hand met his temple, giving it a thorough rubbing. The action, however, was incapable of soothing his nerves. He tried to tell himself that it was just that old woman getting to him. That's all. Her nonsensical riddle leaving his head spinning in dreamt paranoia. If she was indeed referring to the loss of the well-known family, the cliché talk of death was inevitable. Even so… why did she target him? Lina was the one who instigated the start of the conversation. Why didn't the old hag throw her for a loop with her random question? He thought perhaps it was his big mouth, inviting himself in on the discussion. A voice inside of him— one that usually spoke the loudest and most frequently— told him it had nothing to do with his mouth but the way he looked. Nothing about his chimeric form was subtle. Words were never necessary to know what others thought about his appearance. Their expressions, gasps, gestures… It all readout of some horror novel.

Zelgadis opened his eyes and looked to heavens, ordered and ruled by dead-end trails of darkness.

_It's times like these I'd give anything to have my human form back._

Suddenly, there was a rustle. Zelgadis's posture stiffened. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the crunching of rotting vegetation. Whatever it was, Zelgadis was convinced it was too loud to be a measly woodland animal. If he wanted to put his mind fully at ease, then his only option was to investigate.

A lighting spell lit up his free palm, guiding him through the night. Closely, he listened to pinpoint the source. It ebbed and flowed in waves, falling and then rising with each crescendo. By now, he had passed the occupied tent and was near the grave markers. Indistinguishable shadows bounced around against the source of light, like a masquerade of taunting illusions. It was enough to make an overactive imagination go mad.

Then, a meek sweet scent infiltrated the air and into Zelgadis's nostrils. One whiff and his mind took him to another place; the distant memory of crusty granules spilled between his toes, the aroma of sea salt was prolific, bushes of little pale flowers grew with its beauty strangled by turned black shriveling leaves. But it was impossible. There were no lavenders native to the area. In particular, sea lavender. Sea lavender grew on the coast in sandy dry soils; where seagulls' screeches were mistaken for sirens, seashells buried themselves in the sand like troubled memories, and where longing waves contacted the shore, only to be torn away by governed nature.

Curious and bewildered, the chimera followed the aroma and continuous crushing, his nose, and ears guiding him away from the grave markers and into the grove of trees. He weaved and bobbed through the maze and with each step the sound grew stronger and the smell more pungent until— they withdrew to their mystery origin. The return of sweet sap and wet moss on slick stone regained its dominance in the woods. Zelgadis's elongated ears pricked, but nothing could be heard. He turned on his heels, the small cast of light shining back onto the grave markers. There was nothing. Only stillness.

What was going on? Was there a supernatural force at play? Or was it his own psyche, allowing the human weakness of paranoia to seep and contaminate his logical sense of belief? Zelgadis craved for some semblance of control. For the first time that night, he was ready to retire to the crowded tent. Even if he didn't feel physically tired, it was evident his mind required rest.

As he turned to make way back to camp, something caught his eye. Something dark and free-flowing and upright glided and disappeared behind an overgrown bush. He drew his sword out and stifled a gasp. The sword became a brilliant red by the casting of a spell but was rendered useless as a river of fog blurred his vision. Manically, he slashed his weapon in all directions, but the attacks brought not a single downfall.

The fog moved in sagacious patterns, swirling, circling his head and then down to his hands. Everything around him was lost in murky clouds, causing his most reliable battle resources to be impaired. In another effort to strike, Zelgadis stumbled backward, then forwards, and soon lost his footing altogether on a risen tree root. The tip of his boot was caught and then twisted as he tumbled forward face first. Fingers lost their grip and the sword was flung across the woods, ricocheting onto a tree before crashing at the base of its massive entangled roots. The force of his collapse led to mud splattering onto tree bark in long streaks, dripping heavy pools onto the grass below. As expected, he felt no pain, but he was riled with aggravation. As he raised his head, Zelgadis dipped his chin towards his neck. A hot tension of embarrassment ran across his cheeks but was covered in a blanket of muddy slime.

The taste of earth lingered in his mouth as he ran his tongue over his chalked teeth. He coughed in disgust, vigorously spitting out the undesired contents. From there, he propped himself onto his elbows, flicking mud off from his fingers. He could feel the dirt caked onto his wiry eyelashes, bits falling like filthy snowflakes onto the gray rocks beneath his eye sockets.

The fog had lifted.

Had his eyes deceived him? Or was it the subconscious provocation of fear spiking fallacies even in the most logical of men? Zelgadis grumbled under his breath and placed his hands onto the ground, palms squirting mud, ready to push himself back up. But when his long fingernails slid into the softened dirt, grappling for a hold, he could feel something uncharacteristically strange beneath.

His embedded fingers froze in wonder and then went to work. With persistence, he scrubbed harder and harder, swiping specks of earth away to discover a splintered rough surface. The upper portion of his body was adjusted enough for him to cast a small ball of light with his left hand, the other beginning to scoop handfuls of sod. The pile of clods grew to the size of his head when he, at last, came upon what had been discreetly hidden below. There was no treasure, no jewels, or an ancient relic most would expect, or more so, hope to find.

Instead, all that could be found was a half-sunken mud-soaked chest.

* * *

**A/N:** What is in the chest? Can any of the rumors Lina has heard be confirmed? Were Gourry's spidey senses legitimate? Is there something dark at play? And what really happened to the Payne family? Find out in the next future installments! :)

When originally constructing the plot, I recalled in an episode of _Slayers Next_, there is a brief mention of Seyruun's delicious and famous soft served ice cream. So, I thought it would a silly motivator to implement tension between the two rivaling kingdoms. ;) I also noticed in the anime there isn't much discussion or exploration regarding Ralteague, so I have taken liberties in exploring ideas of the country for this story.

In any case, there is much more to come! Thank you all once more taking the time to read. Support, constructive feedback, and interest are very much welcome! :)

Until next time!


	2. Inevitable

**Author's Note: **Hello, my readers! :) Thank you all so much for patiently waiting for chapter two. I hope you all have a Happy Thanksgiving and holiday season to come! Enjoy and thank you for your support/interest!

**DISCLAIMER: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 2

**Inevitable **

The darkening of the skies correlated with the last bite of a late-night supper in the Seyruun royal palace. And there was a strange feeling in the air.

Phil had sensed its foreboding waft since breakfast. He didn't know why nor could explain it. The feeling was just… there. Perhaps it was the awakening to a graying sky that troubled him. Yes. That had to be it. Storm clouds were on the horizon. They were to be expected. They needed rain what with the impeccable number of scorching summer days that had inhabited Seyruun. To the say the least, the crown prince was delighted to see summer wave goodbye and autumn creeping its way into the city.

Adjourning for the night, Phil set aside his unfinished business and gave his undivided attention to his most important investment. His daughter.

Phil's untamed mustache twitched as another checkmate was crowned on his daughter's behalf. Amelia had certainly mastered the art of chess during her free time. Now witnessed to her continued line of victories, he could relate to Zelgadis's despondency. Every win she acquired Phil lost another sweet treat from his premium crafted box of Zephilia chocolates. Still, Phil was no sore loser. If anything, he was stricken with fatherly pride at his Amelia's keen eye for strategy.

_Every great defender of justice needs to understand the importance of strategy!_ he thought to himself with a glimmer of approval in his eyes.

"Checkmate!"

Reaching for the opened box, Amelia popped the last candy into her mouth with a playful wink. "Sorry, Daddy," she said cheekily, as she chewed the morsel on the side of her left cheek. "But all's fair in the art of chess!"

Phil sighed in agreement, smiling softly to himself. "I think that's the end of our game for tonight." He then lifted the empty box of sweets, flipping it upside down in the hopes some would magically appear and fall right onto his desk. They didn't. "And my chocolates too."

"I'm sure Mister Zelgadis will remember to bring some kind of candy back," Amelia assured, brushing any remaining crumbs off her dress. She paused, her head sinking into her shoulders. "If Miss Lina and Mister Gourry haven't _eaten_ it already."

Her father waved one of his big hands dismissively. "Ah, I wouldn't fret. Ralteague chocolates are fine, but nothing like how Zephilia crafts them. Just another knock-off..."

"_Daddy_, we don't have any proof," Amelia reminded, using her carefully trained political tone.

The princess never liked to assume the worst in anyone or anything. Even in imposing kingdoms. Though, to be realistic and fair given the political climate, it was not farfetched to assume a rival nation would exploit the success of another. Copying blueprints for new inventions, facsimileing political decrees, stealing advanced weaponry, all were common lines of threads of treachery... But to capitalize on the popular delicacy of Seyruun's world-renowned soft-served ice cream... Now_ that_ seemed farfetched. Heinous to the righteous hearts of true Seyruun patriots, but nonetheless, a small-scale indecency compared to treacherous plots against the country's wellbeing.

"Perhaps not yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Lina and the others came back with some good solid evidence confirming those rumors we've heard around the city," Phil insisted. He then proceeded to shake his head. "Hard ice cream—who would want that? You'd have to wait a great deal of time for it to be soft enough to bite into. And with our recipes and dairy cows no doubt! In the name of Justice, we shall hold Ralteague accountable for not only theft but for _robbing _the people of what _real_ ice cream represents!"

Two large fists met the solid oak top, the contents rattling and spilling. The Crown Prince's adamant animation caused the chessboard and its pieces to topple into Amelia's lap, some falling directly onto the floor. Soon after, scattered papers floated downward in disarray. Phil basked at the result of his passionate declaration for retribution as his daughter left her seat and collected the chess pieces back onto the table.

"Oh. Sorry, Amelia," Phil sweat-dropped, rubbing the back of his head with a laugh. "Got a little carried away, I suppose."

Amelia sat upon her knees on the floor, her hands contacting the tabletop as she picked handfuls of papers and game pieces. "It's alright," she replied.

The fallen loose papers were randomly shuffled and stacked together, as she collected them into her hands. It wasn't long into the clean-up process did Amelia uncover a flood of envelopes. She gathered a handful at her feet, sifting through to find numerous royal or family crest wax seals on the back. Steadily, the princess rose to her feet, eyes unable to tear away at the discovery before her.

Phil winced to himself. There was no need for words. He knew she understood.

"Amelia," he started slowly.

"When did the first letter come?"

"Oh, Amelia." He hated the dread that claimed her usually vivacious voice. Phil offered his large hand, sturdy round fingers reaching out to take hers into his. She complied willingly, anxiously waiting for the inevitable as she took a seat.

The crown prince exhaled a deep breath through his widened nostrils. "We've talked about this."

"I know," she breathed a similar despondent sigh.

"I'm sorry, Amelia, but I've done my best to fend them off for as long as I can. As much as I prefer to keep you from the unfair realities of our world, we both have our responsibilities as leaders. I promise you, whoever he will be, he will be chosen with the utmost consideration on your behalf. You know I wouldn't accept just anyone as your husband. He's got to get through me first!"

Amelia smiled at her dad's well-meant assurance. Still, she couldn't help but allow a frown to persist. "But Daddy, I won't even know him. He'll be a complete stranger to me. And it will all be— _arranged_," she said with a subtle cringe. "Where's true love in that?"

"Arrangements aren't all terrible," he tried to assure. "Why, your mother and I had an arranged marriage and we were happily matched. Spending those first few months with her before the wedding was one of the best times of my life! I got to see what a wonderful, kind, forgiving, and fierce woman she was. I got to fall _in love_ to understand true love. And I only hope the same for you."

He had to admit his romance was a once in a lifetime dream come true. Most dignitaries never had what he so briefly shared with his wife. Even though their time was cut tragically short, Phil always cherished what memories he was able to make with her and the daughters she had given him. In turn, Phil wanted nothing more but for his daughter to experience such blissful love and devotion as he did.

Amelia's mouth twisted, soaking in her father's words. She tried to find comfort and confidence in them, but an unsettled feeling, a nagging question was too powerful to dismiss.

"Still," the princess started quietly, her eyes turning back to her father, "what if there was someone else? What if Grandfather or the council wanted you to marry a _completely _different woman?"

Phil gaped as if the proposal was completely and utterly out of the question. "I wouldn't have stood for it. I would have fought all forces that dared to keep your mother and me apart! I would have swum across all waters, climbed all mountains! Why I'd even—" It was then he stopped himself, pausing in a classic pose riddled with blooming passion.

He lowered his bushy eyebrows. "Kumquat," he started with her silly childhood pet name, "you're not saying you have your heart set on someone else, are you?"

A nervous large smile spread across Amelia's face. "No. Of course not!" she insisted, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "I've got so much on my mind; I don't have time to worry about if someone loves me or not."

That wasn't necessarily true. Amelia gave herself a mental slap for the quick dismissal of her feelings. As of late, that seemed to be a newly formed habit of hers. She had been placing her responsibilities and obligations above her feelings on matters; it was strange for someone who usually acted upon emotion rather than convention. But she was a princess. Convention was called for. Not that she didn't like rules or expectations. They were necessary for society to halfway function among daily chaos. But when convention affected her own personal private feelings…

_That doesn't mean I don't love him... _Amelia thought to herself, staring glumly at the letters in her hand. _Maybe I should tell, Daddy. This is the perfect opportunity before any arrangements are made. MAYBE if I tell Daddy, then there won't be a need to respond to any of the letters and then, if I'm brave enough, if I REALLY want to be completely honest with myself, I can finally tell HIM the truth and maybe we'd—_

Amelia stopped right there. It was as if everything she believed in, everything she longed for was crumbling away all because of the one person she cared most about. It wouldn't be that easy. Nothing was that easy with him.

She slapped the envelopes on the tabletop in defeat.

_Oh, who am I kidding? That would never happen. _

Outside the study, the slamming of the front doors echoed down the halls. Phil became spooked and Amelia broke free from her inner thoughts. They both straightened themselves in their seats, alerted by the apparently sudden intrusion of the night.

The father and daughter looked to each other in confusion.

"Now, who could that be?" Phil pondered out loud.

Amelia observed her father as he rose from his chair. It couldn't have possibly been Miss Lina and the others. They weren't expected to arrive until sometime tomorrow. As far as she knew, Daddy wasn't expecting any visitors. Could it have been a suitor? Enraged that the crown prince had not replied to his most pressing letter? Amelia allowed the outrageous idea to extinguish itself. If an eligible bachelor had stormed into the castle uninvited demanding the world, then Amelia was confident his letter would be tossed into the fireplace without question.

The sound of footsteps could be made outside the closed-off study, followed by what could be identified as murmured voices. The crown prince pushed in his chair and came around the corner of his massive desk.

"I'm going to go see—"

"Are you aware young man, that there are no candlesticks lit into the entrance of the palace? I could have tripped at this time of night. You'd think someone would be alerted to the situation and dealt with the matter swiftly."

Phil went white as a sheet. He gulped. That voice!

_Could it be? Oh, no... _

Amelia's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze swiveling back to doors of the study and then her father. She too was alarmed by the voice. "Daddy, did you know she—?"

"Oh my, God."

"So, no?" her conclusion sounding more like a question than a definite answer.

Simultaneously, the doors busted wide open. The darkness of the entrance did not keep the announced presence at bay, as it graced itself from ominous shadows with a wooden thump following behind each footstep.

Once the face was cast under flickering candlelight from the study, Phil nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Philionel! Is the blinding dark a commonality as to how your servants greet a marchioness?"

"Mother!" he managed to declare, with a surprised and awkward smile. "What a lovely surprise! How wonderful to see you! It's been so—"

"Oh, skip the formalities, Philionel," the figure now known as 'mother', hushed with an impenetrable bark. "We both know what you're _really_ thinking."

Phil held back a grimace, his teeth clenched together._ What is SHE doing here?_

Being called 'mother' was a commonality in society for married families, as _mother-in-law_ would be too odd and impractical to be called by name. Mother was supposed to be warm and friendly. Mother-in-law felt so cold and distant. It didn't seem to matter in Phil's case. After all, she was anything but warm and friendly.

Where his mother-in-law lacked in towering intimidating height, she made up for in her eyes. Her freezing gaze was a blast of winter hail debilitating the crown prince from seeking calmness and comfort in the recesses of his mind. And much like her eyes, she bared a sharp mind as well. Her words were forever as articulate as her hair, pulled back and restrained in a neatly made bun. Her nobility was silently displayed by the gorgeous gemmed hair pin holding her entire station by stark white strands. She was short, small-boned, and bore a fragile frame; yet she somehow looked as if she could take a good punch like her body was solidified armor. She wore an oversized signature wine-stained tapestry dress (if there was any, the armor must have been hidden underneath), accompanied by her finely sculpted Ceifeed cane, its mouth holding a stunning blue orb.

Phil still stood boggled. He had no remembrance of her writing, indicating she was coming to visit. Then again, much to Phil's disdain, she had a horrible habit of dropping by whenever she felt like it, much less expecting a formal welcome despite her inability to communicate. But she hadn't done that in ages. Something had changed. Something was happening.

"Grandmother Vonzelle!" Amelia acknowledged, excited.

Only Vonzelle's eyes moved, peering at the ecstatic young lady before her. She raised her chin in the air and held up her hand. Amelia stopped at the silent order. When she halted, she became stiff as a board until Vonzelle motioned with curling fingers to do otherwise.

"Amelia, dear. Come," she beckoned over.

Obeying, Amelia stood before her and she took the princess's hands into her own. Her face remained the same as she then took one hand, firmly but softly grabbing Amelia by the cheeks. She turned her face from left to right, pursed her lips with a 'hmm' and returned her hands to herself.

"Now," Vonzelle ordered, "step back, turn, and let me look at you."

Cobalt eyes nervously look to her father, who gave a subtle nod to do as she said. Breathing deeply, Amelia did as commanded. With a straight back, Amelia slowly provided her grandmother with a full view of herself, before clasping her hands together against the middle of her casual dress.

In a rare occurrence, Vonzelle offered an approving but mild smile. "Your presence is a pleasant sight to the eyes. Why you're looking more like your mother by every passing day." Her eyes traveled over to her son-in-law. She frowned. "Thank Ceifeed for that."

"Really? You think so?" Amelia said, sounding hopeful.

"I do not lie, my dear," she lectured.

"You can say that again," Phil mumbled.

A nervous smile stretched across Amelia's face at her father's grumbling. Her intervention was swift but perhaps obvious as she took her grandmother by the arm, seeking all her prosecuting attention. "It's been so long since you've visited," Amelia said, sounding distracted. She adjusted her throat. "I just can't believe you're here!"

"Neither can I," muttered Phil despondently.

"Will you be staying or are you just passing by?" Amelia quickly jumped, causing Vonzelle's back to face Phil. "We would love it if you could stay!"

Over Vonzelle's frail shoulder, Amelia witnessed her father fervently shaking his head and hands in disapproval. In return, Amelia bit her lip and gave an apologetic shrug. She didn't know what else to say. She was only trying to avoid an argument from breaking out.

Over the years, Amelia collected bits and pieces of verbal evidence to suggest there was a rift between Grandmother and Daddy. She assumed it concerned Mom's untimely demise. There was prolonged mourning and hurt on both sides, and perhaps, Amelia wondered if there were some passive-aggressive notions mixed in there as well. But being the optimist, Amelia couldn't allow anger to shape what family she had left. Yes, she knew Grandmother was a tyrant when it came to perfection and expectations. Even so, she was family, her _mother's _family.

"That was my intention," Vonzelle answered as if Amelia should have known better. "I already have a servant arranging a room for me. I hope the unoccupied rooms are still being cleaned regularly despite their vacancies."

A big forced full teethed grin was made by Phil. "Of course, of course! Cleanliness is essential here."

A testy white eyebrow rose. "Quite." She then focused back onto her granddaughter. "Amelia, as much as I would like to discuss your latest developments, would you mind excusing yourself so your father and I may have a private word? I promise we will talk at breakfast tomorrow."

Amelia appeared surprised, shrugging hesitantly. "Uh— sure. I should probably be heading to bed anyway. Goodnight, Grandmother Vonzelle. Goodnight, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Amelia," Phil replied. "Sleep tight."

Behind the door, Amelia's footsteps gradually grew quiet, until they had disappeared up the staircase. The mood of the room shifted with a serious note in the air. Once knowing they were fully alone, Vonzelle turned back to Phil. The hue of blue grew vibrant in her irises. Phil squinted the stare, the stark shade against snow-white hair becoming momentarily unbearable. Her eyes possessed a bitter chill to them, like a once crystal clear free-flowing pond, solidified below impenetrable ice. Something tugged and gnawed at Phil. He could see it now: Amelia was that free-flowing pond and he knew his daughter was about to be ensnared.

"I'm surprised to see you made the journey all on your own," Phil finally commented. He nonchalantly moved back to his desk, pouring himself a drink. He'd offer, but he knew she would vehemently decline.

Vonzelle's scrutinizing eyes narrowed. "Why? Because of my assigned sex or is it my fragile old age?"

Phil nearly choked on his first swig. "I didn't mean—"

"I would have thought your philosophy of empowerment for all might have extended to women?"

"Well, of course it does!"

She returned his answer with a dignified snort. With her cane in hand, she began to walk over to an available seat, prompting Phil to assist.

"Here, let me—"

The old woman swatted Phil's assistance away adamantly. "There is no necessity to hover over me, Philionel. I am perfectly capable of seating myself."

The cane was there for support, in case of any imbalance. Phil thought it was for weaponry but that was him just being silly… and maybe a little spiteful.

Phil adjusted his throat embarrassingly. "Erm— Yes. My apologies." He rounded to the opposite side of his desk and sat down. "How's Doonatel this time of year?"

The subject alone left her sick to her stomach. Her face contorted into disgust as she rested her weathered limbs on the armchairs. "_Hot_. _Humid_. And I detest _blistering warm_ weather; it's quite bothersome. I heard talk of exceedingly cool temperatures in the capital, so, as I wait for the transitional summer temperatures to pass, I thought I might make use of my time here."

Phil nodded as if it was a programmed response. "I see." Then he blinked. His thick brow lowered, wrinkles deepening across his face. "Wa—wait. Make use of your time _here_? Forgive me, Mother, for asking, but what exactly do you plan to do with your time while you're in Seyruun?"

"You know very well _why_ I am here," Vonzelle said as if it was obvious.

"Do I?" he echoed. He honestly had no clue.

Vonzelle rolled her eyes. "Don't be daft!" she snapped with a harsh tap of her cane. "Christopher informed me of the urgency of Amelia's impending marriage."

The crown prince balked. "When?"

"When you sent him to the annual Doonatel Ball in _your_ place." When he said nothing, she persisted in further annoyance. "Don't you recall? You claimed you had a, how did you put it? A 'top-secret mission for the cause of justice' to oversee. If you didn't want to attend, a simple '_no thank you_', would have sufficed. No sense in making up a silly story like a child."

He was going to start with, 'but I wasn't 'making up a silly story'', but Phil knew better; he decided it was best to leave it at that if he wanted to avoid sounding like a child as she so claimed. Both in his defense and the revealing of his 'top-secret mission'.

"Perhaps, you misunderstood Christopher," he replied tactfully. "You see, I have everything under control."

Vonzelle's frown tightened as her eyes scrutinized the scattered letters upon the desk. Untidiness was never becoming of a royal. "Yes, your desk speaks _volumes_. Christopher expressed the council is pressuring you," she cut to the chase. "He informed me that a vote had taken place on behalf of arranging a suitor to court Amelia. You were in the minority. I'm aware your brother tends to stay in your camp; however, he could not help but express his concerns that your purposeful delaying will cause unnecessary tension between our allies. I don't need to remind you that prospective suitors don't like to be snubbed. Why it's insulting of you Philionel to just throw their proposals on your desk like those rumpled wrappers of your devoured sweets!"

Phil sunk into his massive shoulders, looking down at the mess before him shamefully. Those once full delicious wrappers weren't even consumed by him. But that wasn't the point. He had no intention of being disrespectful. He was just... busy ruling a kingdom after all! The people's welfare and the country's foundation were his main concerns. He had more important tasks to focus on like ceasing the prostitution rings on the dingy side of the capital or renegotiating paid maternity leave for working women or Amelia's mission on reforming and promoting more humane farm animal slaughtering practices. Seyruun was an evolved liberal monarchy. Change was forever progressing. And with that, Phil had to remain diligent.

"I'm well aware of the delicacy of the situation," he, at last, said, staying even. "I just don't see the need to push Amelia into marriage this instance. She and I will decide on a match soon enough. If anything, a long engagement is what I had in mind. I'm more focused on preparing her as a ruler first. I've made this very clear to the council."

"Still, you were outnumbered, Philionel," she reminded with a hint of wicked smugness. "With preparation to be a ruler comes the need for a spouse. A partner in this affair. If you want her to be a well-adjusted leader, Amelia needs to learn what it means to share the title with another. After all, she won't be ruling Seyruun all on her own."

"Well, yes. You do make a good point. But—"

"How long do you intend to let her drag out this impending engagement? Weeks? Months? Years? She cannot go on much longer unless she has a passionate desire to be a spinster!"

"Amelia is not against the idea of marriage if that's what you're presuming," Phil declared, against his mother-in-law's premature fantasized speculations.

A glint of suspicion lit in Vonzelle's eyes. "_Who_ is he?"

Phil made a face. "I don't think we should jump to conclusions—"

"You know I adore Amelia with all my heart," she started, almost tiredly. "But as a princess, she has responsibilities to think of first before her own desires. Political prospects she should be thinking of. _Not_ falling in love. Love is fleeting. Ruling a kingdom is forever. This nonsensical talk of 'happily ever after' is unrealistic. It gives her no scope on her reality."

"_Nothing_ in life is perfect," she stated, knowing full well of the truth. "But for someone in her position of power, life can at least be— content."

Most people lived by coping rather than being content. Even if their lives weren't perfect, most still had a say in who they wished to marry. The one right a commoner had was the one Amelia was practically without. And knowing his daughter, contentment was not on her agenda when it came to marriage. Amelia loved her kingdom and would do her ultimate best for it, but she was uncooperative in compromising her heart. Both saddening and frustrating, Phil did not blame her. He knew full well he cultivated that… Not that Vonzelle was right about 'happily ever after' or anything.

"Mother, I'm sure Amelia understands fiction from reality. But where's the harm in letting the girl dream a little?" he said with a shrug. "She has been and will be handling more adult responsibilities soon enough. The least I can do for her is let her be with someone who will treat her kindly and make her happy."

"I understand a man of good character is indispensable for Amelia and the kingdom's welfare. Let's not get that confused, Philionel," Vonzelle retorted sharply. "And let's not forget that not only was your title appealing but it was your _reputation _that sealed my husband's agreement with your father when we arranged your marriage to our daughter."

There was a change in her expression. The hard lines of age faded, and the cast of an icy stare softened into something warm yet grave. She brought a rounded fist to her chest, calming a beating heart.

"I promised Pherenice I would look after her daughters if anything happened to her," Vonzelle began, her voice resembling the reciting of a pledge. "And I intend to uphold my promise until the very end. Now with Gracia gone… Amelia is all I have left of Pherenice. And because of that, I want the utmost best for her. Even if she fails to understand I am only looking out for her best interest. Perhaps she will understand this when she has children of her own.

"But enough of that," she dismissed speedily, feeling the subject had been broached enough. For a moment, she struggled to meet Phil's eyes again. "You just concern yourself with shaping my granddaughter as a ruler. _I _will take _this_ burdensome task off your much-weighted shoulders. I understand the council is waiting for an answer, are they not?"

At first, Phil was submersed into a puddle of upheaved grief at the mention of his departed wife. If there was anything these two opposing souls shared, it was the love and sorrow of Pherenice. For just a split second, Phil thought he and Vonzelle were amid coming to some understanding. But like many times before, she had swiftly and unashamedly pulled the rug right underneath him. His mild state had been pricked and prodded with self-imposition and he would not be bullied into anything involving his daughter's future.

"Now hold on, Mother," Phil ordered, holding up his hands. "I understand where you are coming from, but you cannot come in here and undermine my authority when it comes to my Amelia's future. I am not about to give away her freedom and rights at the expense of political convenience for some lord—"

"Very well. I've heard your feelings on the matter quite enough," Vonzelle extinguished with silencing of her hand comparable to a magic wand. "I can see you have, at least, attempted, to sift through the propositions."

"Of course, I have!" Phil proclaimed, defensively. "I think I've reviewed enough."

"Well then, what do you think?" she asked, waiting for his supposed ideal candidate to be announced. "Any sufficient considerations for the next king of Seyruun?"

Phil shrunk back into his boulders for shoulders. His large hands delicately peaked under a couple of papers. "Oh well, I suppose there are a few acceptable fellows..."

"Really? _Who_?" she persisted.

His eyes fell back onto the disorder, riffling through papers among flattened heaps. "Um, well, there was a man from uh... was it Lyzeille or...?"

He held them to the light of lit candles and when he wasn't satisfied with that man, he went onto the next. Vonzelle's expression stood unchanged, only the rhythmic tapping of her long-manicured fingernails indicating she had fed enough into this lousy attempt of preparedness.

"How about this," she started catching her son-in-law's attention. "Since you apparently need time to recall exactly who you believe is worthy enough to inherit the kingdom and wed Amelia, you have until tomorrow night to do some— _reorganizing_," she worded with intended snobbery. "We will then reconfigure the following morning. Perhaps weed out the competition. After that, you may take it to the council."

_Until tomorrow night?_ The papers dropped and flew from Phil's hand, floating before his flummoxed face. "I do have other matters to attend to—"

"It's settled," she decided.

From there, Vonzelle rose from her seat. She paid no heed to his still paralyzed state as she and cane in tow, went to the study door. "Now, you should very well understand how taxing a long journey can be. I will be adjourning for the night. Do not forget the necessity of the candles in the entrance hall, will you?"

And with that, she closed the door behind her.

Phil remained seated, wide-eyed, and lost. How did she manage to still steamroll right over him after all these years? To the people of his country, Crown Prince Philionel was known for his thunderous righteous voice against all corrupt forces who dared to threaten the use of mayhem among the goodness of the world. When in the presence of his mother-in-law, he was cursed and transformed into a fumbling milquetoast. Strange, how one person could have such an affect over another.

Phil had no desire to mull over it. He would deal with it in the morning. A shot of whiskey before bed would do well enough if he was going to get through the next… He paused.

How long did Vonzelle intend to stay anyway? Maybe he was going to need two shots of whiskey… And two more in the morning.

* * *

When her skin turned as wrinkly as a prune, Amelia knew it was time to get out.

She left the bath and ventured back into her bedroom, slipped on a nightgown, and snatched her hairbrush. She then sat before her vanity mirror, wet locks sending droplets onto the skirt of her dress. One leg was propped up on the satin cushion of the chair, her dainty foot resting on it while the other stayed pointed, the toes touching the cold floor. The bristles of her brush pulled through the tangled soaked knots of her dark locks, leaving a smooth silky shine when she was all finished.

Off of her vanity, she grasped a thin delicate gold chain. She then watched the gold locket hanging below, swing in midair with graceful ease. It was her favorite and because it was her favorite, she hardly wore it to prevent any more damage. The hinge was partially broken but stuck to where she couldn't open it. When the aftermath had passed, Daddy discovered the chain had been snapped and it had been flown across his bedroom. When they laid her to rest, he couldn't bear to look it. The cherished memories it once held turned dark with only flashes of a slain woman he called his wife.

When he was ready, Daddy inherited the locket to her. Amelia saw true love whenever the locket met her eyes. She only wished she could have the same. So much so, that if she had a daughter, she intended to pass it down to her and to the next. Keeping it in the family seemed only right.

As she abandoned her vanity, she detoured from her usual bedtime ritual and stood before her large scalloped mirror. Amelia examined herself from head to toe, pulling at the skirt of the flowy nightgown, playfully swishing it from side to side. She felt oddly pretty in it. Not sensual just— pretty. It was a very modest nightgown. A prim and respectable piece of night attire every princess should have in their wardrobe. One that love-sick lovers were supposed to admire at the foot of a high tower or to find in a bed of flowers. But there were no lovers in her life, and there certainly wasn't anyone or had been anyone standing outside her balcony doors for that matter.

Now opening the enormous bed, Amelia's bare feet contacted cool fabric. She fully swung her short legs onto the bed, leaned over, and struck a match to stone. The oil lamp was lit and the match, serving its one and only purpose, was discarded. Comfortably laying back onto pillows, she pulled her knees close to her chest and grabbed a handful of rumpled notes off her nightstand. She had not anticipated that the commissioning of humane slaughter as well as dairy production for cattle would not only cause such an upheaval with its farmers but an immense amount of legal work!

The end of Amelia's traveling days brought an abundance of work in total. Who knew princesses were required to handle more than mastering the art of graceful waving, ballroom dancing, deciphering the language of woodland critters, and being rescued from witches or dragons? Daddy showed no hesitation in giving her a little fatherly shove from the bird's nest, encouraging the mastery of taking flight. Much to the princess's relief, she took to her duties well. That didn't mean, however, that there weren't times where she wished she was searching for treasure, defeating monsters, or looking for stolen ice cream recipes with her dearest friends.

It wasn't long into her rummaging of parchment before Amelia spotted a fluffy feather-duster tail swishing above the papers. Her blue eyes peered over and smiled at the sight of the purring spectator.

"And where have you been hiding?" the princess asked with a playful ring to her voice. "Sleeping somewhere, I assume?"

Jumping onto the massive bed with ease, the feline walked over to the princess. Amelia giggled at the longhaired tortoiseshell cat's receptive nudging. She returned the gesture with a thorough scratching behind a pointed ear.

"Don't worry, Gingersnap," Amelia soothed. "Mister Zelgadis will be home soon."

She said this because, she was what Amelia titled herself no doubt, a joint partner in the care of this ragamuffin stray. In the bitterness of January, Amelia and Zelgadis had discovered Gingersnap behind a restaurant in the city, feasting on meat scraps that had been tossed into the alleyway. She was scruffy, unkempt, malnourished and malodourous as rotting food she ate upon. Amelia took pity on the poor creature and insisted she come back to the palace.

Safe in the corridors of the grand castle, Amelia and Zelgadis immediately went to the kitchens, scavenging for a proper source of food for the stray. As they did so, the cat found delight in licking off sugary crystals from freshly baked molasses cookies on the counter. Naturally, Amelia decided Gingersnap was the perfect name for her. Zelgadis agreed without much care and assumed she would be Amelia's pet anyhow. What he was not prepared for, was that his rooms were to become the cat's forever home, thereby, selecting him as the rightful master. Amelia, on the other hand, was not at all surprised. There was a sort of care in the way he carried her to the palace to his diligence in finding what he believed to be a source of protein sufficient enough for her carnivorous diet.

Evidently, cats, or at least Gingersnap, were his soft spot. No annoyance was mustered at the cat's claim of his secluded rooms. Perched like nobility, she stationed herself on the bench next to the window, seated by Zelgadis's chair and canvas. She was ideal company while he painted. Quiet, unassuming, and nonjudgmental. In return, generosity was prevalent with warm milk, plush cushions for bedding, peacock feathers for playtime, and plenty of scratches behind the ear.

As much as Zelgadis valued being labeled as 'a heartless mystical swordsman' he wasn't fooling her. Out of preserving his merciless mercenary reputation, Amelia didn't dare breathe a word of his kindness. The care that had been placed onto Gingersnap was enough proof for Amelia to know the goodness in his heart.

Which was what made everything so frustrating. The potential to open Zelgadis's locked heart was there, but only in the rarest of moments. Glimmers of something more, something implied had been flickering between them in just that year. Words were cryptic but actions were no longer dismissive. The sidelong glances, the offering of his arm, the light caressing touches when emotion crept in… something must have changed. Amelia wasn't sure when, but she was sure it had. Perhaps when he became her bodyguard… or was it further back? Was it when she gave him the bracelet? Every time he would leave in stints, she made sure he took her bracelet with him, begrudgingly or not. She had hoped he recognized it as a token of her affection. Nothing could be confirmed, but Amelia had an aching suspicion. But she couldn't be certain because _it_ was never said.

She wanted him to know the truth. But if she said it first and the affection was not returned it would ruin everything between them. She preferred to believe Zelgadis as a determined man rather than a stubborn one, but admitting anything that seemed out of bounds was nearly impossible for him to do. Zelgadis was enough of a difficult creature to be close to, and Amelia couldn't risk losing his friendship, his presence in her life, on the prospect of what _could _be. Then again, assuming what was written in those letters, it felt like she was already losing him. She wondered if he would even care…

Overwhelmed, Amelia became too distracted to work. The parchment wilted in her hands like flowers and so, she made an exchange. An escape was necessary before going to bed and she had just the answer. In her hands, was the current novel that engaged her attention. She was near finished; only a few more chapters to go. Oriolda Winters had to be her favorite romance author (despite hiding such books in shame). Amelia wished she could be more like her striking heroines. So bold, so brave, even at the cost of social outcry— that Amelia had down pat. But admitting romantic feelings point-blank and never being modest of showing a little skin out of the provocation for the greater good… Well, that she struggled with. Not that Amelia ran into a problem where_ that_ was required.

Among her high shelves, Amelia proudly displayed books from politics, to enlightenment, to cultural exploration, and of course, magic. All were worthy topics of discussion a liberal woman of her society should be educated in. But romance novels on the other hand… Well, they were fairy tales full of romantic notions, idyllic endings, and shamefully venereal desires. But where most found laughable fodder to mock at Amelia saw dustings of parables and inklings of maybes. What reality _could_ be like if someone (and not anyone in particular, mind you), felt secure to let their guard down, to not shoulder their burdens alone, and find happiness in the acceptance of themselves and of others' love.

For example, where she was currently at in her book. In this excerpt, Amelia was observed in the boiling tension between that of the heroine Lettice and her sword-fighting masked savior Sir Madok. Together, they had defeated a juvenile dragon, Madok inheriting boiling blisters on his arms by the fire-breathing monster. Lettice, a skilled healer, showed no hesitation in attending to his wounds. Here, they shared vulnerability together as she communicated her dedication through trusting touches.

_Once she healed his arm, she took his hand and ran her lit index finger over the lines of Madok's palm. Each told a story, leading down a different path. One told of scars of abuse from his wicked aunt, shame from his homeland, another of lost love. A cleansing wave washed over Madok, Lettice's soft touch purifying every line into something renewed and hopeful. Now understanding the sensation and its deepest roots of origin, he asked himself why it took him so long to let his guard down. If her touch was powerful enough to make him feel whole, he wondered what an exquisite experience it would be for her to become fully his in the flesh—_

With a slapping of pages, she closed the book. Perhaps that's not what Amelia _necessarily_ idealized... and maybe it was a _tad_ too flowery... But the idea was there.

Amelia sat the novel aside, pulling her knees in and rested her arms then chin on top. She then turned her head, pursing her lips in thought. It all sounded piffling to imagine anyhow. If she had to entertain the horrifying idea of an arranged marriage, no suitor who was after the throne, the sheer volume of riches, or power, would take any grandiose notion to captivate her for the sake of admiration and affection. Amelia recognized it was hypocritical to be biased. But there were too many encounters of the type to persuade her otherwise. Men in her line of work were nothing like the fictitious "Prince Charming" most common girls fantasized about. Conceded, spoiled, dull, vain, judgmental, and often inept in the most basic daily regiments were shared commonalities among high ranking eligible bachelors. They weren't like what she read in her romance novels. There, she found exciting and riveting heroes who felt emotion, struggled with life, and were full of ambition. They rode on horseback, and charged into peril, and sacrificed themselves for the sake of another one's livelihood, safety, or for love.

But that was fiction. No suitor like that would ever walk through the palace doors.

Then again, was it right of her to judge so quickly? Sure, Amelia had met her fair share of conceded nobles, but that didn't mean they_ all_ had to fall under one category. Someone could have easily said the same about her if they didn't know her. If she was an exception to the common princess than there had to be a nobleman in a similar position. Mom got lucky with Daddy so maybe the same would happen for her. Or was that just wishful thinking?

If anything was for certain, it would take more than gorgeous eyes, a handsome complexion, and noticeable muscles to vie for her affection. No matter how dire the circumstances were, she wasn't going to bargain with her heart. Her heart was sacred, and she had already given it away. There was nothing that could make her believe otherwise. Even if the man she loved could not give it back.

But slumber was calling for her and she could not worry about powers out of her control. So, for the time being, Amelia would rely on her dreams to sweep her away.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading everyone! :) I hope you all enjoyed this latest installment! I will try to have chapter three posted sooner than chapter two. I have already started, so with a little time, luck, and pixie dust, I hope to have it up in mid-December. :)

In regards to this chapter, I have always been intrigued by the exploration of Amelia's family. The subject is hardly broached, so I thought I would expand upon it myself. I assumed Amelia's mother also came from some line of nobility (considering that we are dealing with royalty and politics), and in doing so, would possibly have an expectedly traditional wealthy mother to juxtapose the more liberal and modern thinking of Phil. I wanted to play with the idea of Vonzelle being the keeper of her family, as it has been fragmented by the loss of her daughter, thereby overseeing Amelia's future. We shall see how it plays out! To give credit where credit is due, Vonzelle was inspired by Marion Ross's fantastic performance as "Trix"/"Gran" from _Gilmore Girls_ as well as the infamous Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Jane Austen's classic _Pride and Prejudice_. If you have not read the novel, please check it out! In general, I always enjoy creating original characters especially meddling elderly dames! LOL

Thank you once more! :) See what mysteries, possible suitors, and drama awaits for our heroes in the next chapter! Toodles!


	3. Propositions

**Author's Note: **Hello, my readers! Thank you all so much for waiting patiently for the next installment. I will try AGAIN to ensure the next chapter won't take so long to write. The holiday season kept me busy, but I am glad nonetheless to finally share chapter three with you all!

I also wanted to give special thanks to my first reviewer, MrsTolan. :) Thank you so much for your positive feedback and enthusiasm for the story! I sincerely appreciate the support and enjoyed reading your thoughts. I would also like to send my condolences on the loss of your beloved cat. I'm so sorry to hear that. :( I understand how difficult it can be to lose a pet, especially one you rescued. But I am glad you took him in, gave him a good home, and now have memories of your time together. I send my sincerest sympathies to you and your husband.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and a Happy New Year to you all!

**DISCLAIMER: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 3

**Propositions**

On a rare occurrence, the morning sun was less than welcoming to the crown prince.

In the still of the night, Phil was ensnared with taunting dreams. Every toss and turn conjured an icy stare. Thin weathered lips slowly opening and closing between each enunciated word. In his all-too-real nightmare, Phil staggered and then swirled; unable to fight against the current of a downward spiral engulfed in a sea of official letters with lords dancing among the waves of multiplying licked envelopes. Restless slumber was an eternity. Phil could not determine just how many hours he indeed deeply sleep. He closed his eyes and lounged in bed, try to make up for wasted hours; one would have expected he would be able to, given the simple fact of his station. But the sun was his own alarm clock, and he knew his responsibilities could not be delayed. That and breakfast. Phil _never _missed breakfast. Even on his worst days, breakfast was forever the highlight.

Once dressed, he left his rooms and entered the dining hall. There, he found Amelia and Vonzelle already seated and eating. As predicted, Vonzelle had taken sadistic pleasure in slipping snide remarks regarding the breakfast portions and the unbalanced amount of various meats versus the scarce amount of fruit. Too hungry and with little energy to care, Phil dismissed her sermon of portion control and helped himself to what she called a 'gross indulgence' of bacon and runny fried eggs. As he scooped his second portion onto his plate, he took note of the relaxed expression on Amelia's face. Phil felt a rush of relief. By the looks of it, Vonzelle had not mentioned their late-night talk to Amelia. That still did not mean his mother-in-law would eventually bring up the pressurizing subject. She was a creature who spoke her mind, regardless of anyone's feelings on the matter. Nonetheless, the ounce of hegemony at his dining table would suffice for the time being.

But for peace to last, he had to play his cards right, which called for reasonable plain ventures that kept typical old busybodies out of trouble.

"Mother," the crown prince started, filing up his now heavily occupied plate, "I've come up with some activities for you to enjoy while you are staying with us. I thought a stroll in our newly-expanded botanical garden might be nice before all the flowers fade for the season."

Vonzelle took a ladylike sip of tea and placed her teacup down onto its matching saucer. "I have no desire to walk about the palace gardens and sniff every flower within my reach, Philionel. I'm not a bee," she snapped. "From my designated window, I can already see the quality of the garden has faltered since the impregnation of those hideously blinding begonias. Besides, I have much more pressing matters to attend to than a mindless stroll."

Those 'much more pressing matters' were exactly _why_ he suggested the garden stroll. Phil opened his mouth to defend those 'hideously blinding begonias' but was rendered pointless as a young male servant approached the breakfast table. Phil's attention turned to him as the servant politely intruded.

"Pardon me, Prince Philionel, but a delegate from Ralteague has arrived. He says he wishes to speak with you as soon as you're available. Should I escort him to your study?"

Phil lowered his eyebrows in confusion and shook his head. "Uh— yes," he finally answered, adjusting his throat. First Vonzelle arrived unannounced and now a delegate from Ralteague? He wasn't sure which intrusion threw him for a bigger loop.

"Thank you, Ernoldus," he continued. "Please, tell him I will be there momentarily." The young man nodded, bowed, and did as he was told. From there, Phil stood up and pushed in his massive chair. "My apologies, Mother, but I must attend to this. I will see we are able to have lunch together."

"Spare your rehearsed politeness, Philionel," Vonzelle waved her free hand, too fixated on adding a single _small_ lump of sugar to her beverage than to bother making eye contact. "Go, if you must. Amelia and I are perfectly capable of keeping each other company. And I'm sure the extra side of bacon will do just fine what with its cousin the ham."

A grunt and grumble fell from Phil's lips but was unintelligible by his trusty furry mustache. For that alone, he never planned on shaving it.

As he disappeared from the dining hall, Amelia was consumed with strained awkward silence. She was aware of Vonzelle's serious nature but found her to be strangely quiet. Amelia wondered if it was just herself or if something had transpired that night between, her and Daddy. In any case, Amelia looked to the high ceiling above and prayed this would not transform into an unpleasant visitation. Her grandmother was here, and at the very least, she hoped for it to be a good distraction from all the suitor talk.

Thinking back, it had been years since Amelia saw her grandmother. The last instant was burned into the princess's memory. There was a puppet show packed full of clumsy acrobatic tricks and tales of justice conquering all evil in the world. Those tales had holes poked into them (and if they were literally visible, probably with the Ceifeed cane too) and heckled by her grandmother at the expense of an eight-year old's feelings. But Amelia hadn't taken offense to it. If anything, her naïve mind was convinced her grandmother was in dire need of more tales.

From then on out, letters were the primary form of communication. By then, Amelia made herself see past her grandmother's cold nature. Being her maternal grandmother, she was desperate for some relative connection. And it didn't take long to find one. Within the nicely printed notes were intricate words of fascinating details regarding Vonzelle's latest grandiose acts of goodwill. She, a representative of Doonatel, offered aid to the common people, not in excess by any means, but what was deemed right by the Church of Ceifeed and not anymore. She was no martyr after all and being labeled as one would be just as horrifying as misplacing the order of silverware on the dinner table.

Though her limits of support did not exclude her global trots. Her charity work took her across all countries, which lit a fire in the princess to explore outside palace walls. Reading of cultural differences, historical monuments, breathtaking rivers, snowy mountains, and rolling hills… They all played a role in Amelia's ultimate decision to travel. That and Miss Lina. But Vonzelle, despite her disposition, was a source of admiration for the princess. So, even if sharing traveling stories were her only lifeline of pleasantries, Amelia would make the most of them. Trying to get along was better than not.

After another indulgence of tea, Vonzelle perked at the scratchy scraping of a butter knife meeting crisp toast. Feeling her stern eyes on her, Amelia stopped midway through a swish of marmalade, smiled weakly, and placed the knife back onto her plate.

"Grandmother Vonzelle," Amelia started, hoping to start a new line of discussion before a disquisition commenced on how 'lady's do not scrape their toast for the entire world to hear'. "I've been meaning to ask: how was your trip to the Outer World with Grandfather Reginald and Uncle Joseph?"

Vonzelle sat her teacup down. "As you can imagine yourself, _hot_."

"Did you do any sightseeing?"

"Unfortunately, no," she said, lightly bereaved. When Amelia's peering intensified, Vonzelle elaborated. "It was some unpleasant business I'm afraid. A friend of your grandfather's, Lord Hamen Bardolf, Duke of Ula'ree, had met a rather speedy demise. With the monster's barrier being lifted, we were amid making a trade agreement between Doonatel and Ula'ree when he met his untimely death. It came on so quickly… something to do with his heart, the healer said. Such a shame; despite knowing him for such a short duration of time we had become considerably acquainted."

"I'm so sorry, Grandmother Vonzelle," Amelia said with empathetic eyes. "Please, tell Grandfather Reginald I send my condolences."

She nodded.

"So, is there really no hope for your agreement to go forward?" the princess pressed.

Vonzelle's icy eyes lit. "Hamen was a widower, but fortunately, the entire estate and fortune have gone to his son, Lord Esmour Bardolf. Charming young man. Very well spoken and the most gracious of hosts. Thankfully, he is willing to fulfill his father's promise and continue negotiating our trade agreement much to the benefit of Doonatel and Ula'ree's economic growth. Once signed, the agreement could set Seyruun above all its neighboring countries. It may also be a personal benefit to you as well, my dear."

A foreboding twist churned in Amelia's stomach. An uneasy inkling flared, and a sensation soared down her fingertips. She set her toast back down, in fear of fumbling. Her tone shifted. "How so?" Amelia asked.

"Lord Bardolf is a bachelor, Amelia," Vonzelle spelled out, with a hint of impatience. "I informed him of your current position. I think he would be a suitable match to consider. After all, our country will have ties with his soon enough. Your uncle is already in the process of drawing up the agreement."

Amelia did not bother to hide her terror physically from the on the sly plotting of a matchmaking scheme. Her mouth fell open and words faltered to form. "Wait—" she finally sputtered. "So, you're visiting because of the _letters_?"

"It's more than just the letters," Vonzelle admitted, unflinchingly. "You are at an age Amelia where you need to start thinking more about what your position and purpose in life _requires _from you and start thinking less about what you _want _from it. At sixteen my marriage was arranged; I was married within three months to your grandfather. At your age, your mother was already two years old. You have responsibilities to uphold, Amelia. I as did your mother understood this. Now it's your turn to do your part."

Amelia stared down at her half-eaten toast. The smell of Vonzelle's lemon ginger tea, the clattering of china, and the ever so faintest slurping between aged wrinkled lips made the princess queasy and restless. If Daddy was on her side, there was no true threat of an arranged marriage being enacted. Yet, Amelia felt as if it was already being pursued.

Her mother's younger brother of fourteen years, Joseph, was the family's solicitor. With him enacting the agreement, drawing up papers was beginning to look like a business transaction on Amelia's behalf rather than some non-descript treaty agreement. Amelia frowned. Thinking back to what Daddy had told her the previous night…

"Did Daddy ask you to come?" Amelia finally questioned. A terrorizing web of deceit seeped its way into her fragile mind, afraid her father had facilitated the necessary 'assistance of her grandmother'. After all, who else would have known about the letters let alone her persistent game of delay?

"In a way," was all Vonzelle said.

Amelia sunk back into her chair. Without confirmation, the princess found no release. Her entire future was before her, and all she could see of its impending vision was formidable imperceptible shadows of blind obedience. Amelia raised her chin and decided. She would not be devitalized by the looming notion of 'wise' elderly reverence or the perceived conviction of her titled obligations. Her grandmother wanted her to act like a leader and make decisions then she would.

"Grandmother Vonzelle," she proclaimed, in an unabashed tone. Amelia's mouth quivered at the meeting of the old woman's eyes. Still, she proceeded. "I don't want to get engaged to this Lord Bardolf or anyone in those letters."

She had thought her grandmother would strike her with a verbal scolding for her defiance. Instead, she was returned with a deadpan expression, scrutinizing eyes seeping their way into hers. "Because there's someone else?" she concluded.

Amelia stiffened and swallowed. Her mind swarmed manically, scrabbling for a tactful answer, without foretelling her grandmother's admission.

Outside, her attention was diverted by the familiar clogging of hooves, nays, and the rhythmic turning of beaten wood against laid stone. Then there was that voice. One all bandits trembled before, monsters' ultimate formidable challenger.

Amelia's cheeks lifted and her full lips broke out into an infectious smile.

"They're back!" she declared.

The arrival was exploited at a full advantage, as Amelia abandoned her chair. Picking up the skirts, she jumped from the table and raced out of the dining hall without little to no debilitation of her heels.

Vonzelle rose from her chair soon after, slamming her cane down with a commanding cry. "Amelia! A princess does not jump from the table. Oh, for goodness sake…"

The lecturing rules of conduct went unnoticed to the princess's ears. Absorbed in the anticipation, she could not resist haphazardly dodging passing by servants and soon zoomed past the stationed guards at the entrance. With one push, she opened the front doors of the palace and met daylight. Her eyes squinted at the bright rays breaking between massive gray pillows above. Once her eyes were adjusted, Amelia recognized the ceasing of clopping and the rolling wagon behind it.

There they were, right before her! Amelia's smile grew, ebullient for their return. Especially, after spotting a familiar face emerging from the back of the wagon, dusting himself free of poking strands of hay.

"Mister Zelgadis!"

Ambushed, the chimera stumbled backward and endured the endearing pummeling of Amelia's strong embrace. His feet danced back and forth under her shifting weight. An illusion was then given that he was swinging her body around in a grandiose greeting of affection, when in actuality, he was struggling for balance.

Two more sets of familiar faces stood by, one, adjusting her throat with an ever so noticeable _'ahem!'_. When that didn't work, she simply yelled.

"Hi to you too, Amelia!"

"Oh! Hi, Miss Lina!"

Amelia, at last, freed Zelgadis from her grasp and approached her redhaired friend. She took the sorceress's hands into hers. "It's so wonderful to see you and Mister Gourry too!" Amelia basked. "It's been so long since we last caught up." She turned to face Zelgadis. "And Daddy and I missed you while you were away too, Mister Zelgadis."

There was an evident shift in Amelia's tone. Her voice grew quieter, softer, with a different sense of enthusiasm and sincerity. Zelgadis picked up on it but didn't intend on analyzing it.

"I was hardly gone a couple of days," he pointed out.

Before she had the opportunity to reply, a less than jovial presence intruded.

"Amelia," the voice rang sharply, "who are _these_ people?"

Each head swiveled, staring at the unrecognizable guest before them. From there, Amelia interceded for the urgency of clarification.

"I'm sorry Grandmother," Amelia apologized. Her projected voice had dwindled into what Vonzelle would consider sensibly ladylike and a mask of political niceties was worn with each gracious gesture. "These are my friends," she introduced. "Miss Lina Inverse, Mister Gourry Gabriev, and Mister Zelgadis Greywords. Mister Zelgadis is also my bodyguard.

"Everyone, this is my grandmother: Lady Vonzelle Rosalind De Chiaramonte. Marchioness of Doonatel, Seyruun. She's my maternal grandmother."

All eyes dashed to one another in blatant bewilderment. When Lina specifically glanced at Zelgadis for an answer, he simply shrugged unaware himself.

"Nice to meet ya," Gourry was the first to say, smiling. He was obviously unaware a handshake was grotesquely inappropriate for a commoner to initiate. When Vonzelle simply stared at the swordsman's offered hand, in what felt like painstaking minutes, he finally withdrew it considerably puzzled. She scanned the three travelers as if baring x-ray vision that could see as far into one's soul then focused back on Amelia.

"And what is the reason behind their unexpected visit?" Vonzelle interrogated.

"We're here because Phil—"

"Invited us to stay," Lina cut in, elbowing Gourry's side in which she hoped looked casual rather than purposeful. "It's been a while since Gourry and I have seen Amelia, and Zelgadis saw us here. Right, Zel?"

"Yes," he confirmed stoically.

Lying seemed reasonably smart. Just by how she spoke to Amelia, the chimera could already see this grandmother of hers was an invasive creature solely thriving off other's flaws and excoriating ill tolerable doings. If Phil did not want them to share their investigation with just anyone, then it was only obvious someone like Vonzelle would be included on the 'not supposed to know because they could likely impede my plans' list.

Vonzelle's eyes slit against pronounced suspecting scaly eyelids. "I see. So, you're_ the_ Lina Inverse, hmm?" she remarked, changing subjects. "I've heard a great deal about you. I was under the assumption you were a hundred-year-old witch."

Lina furrowed her eyebrows. Those nasty rumors that tended to waft throughout the land had a fanciful way of contorting into hideously bizarre exaggerations of her character and appearance. And for what? So, she had slain countless bandits, a handful of dragons, blew up few villages, and notoriously powerful monsters to boot! That was nothing to snuff at, right? If anything, people should have been thanking her. Not that she wanted to be labeled as a martyr or anything. But if people were going to talk (which inevitably they would), could they at least depict her at the correct age and not paint her to be a hideous deplorable hag? Was that so much to ask for?

Lina's scowl intensified as she placed her hands on her hips. "And what caused you to reach this load of—"

"Nonsense," Zelgadis finished.

Lina glared at him for which he did not care. He was doing her a favor. The sorceress's arsenal of catty rejoinders would only serve her a side of regrets against the polemic doings of the equally formidable marchioness.

"Word of mouth," Vonzelle answered. She stuck her nose high in the air. "You can never trust what spurs from the rumor mill."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that when it comes to Lina," Gourry interjected.

"Will you just put a sock in it?" Lina hissed. Was he crazy or just plain clueless? Lina knew it was the latter, but even so, the swordsman should have known better. Giving someone like Vonzelle full ammunition against Lina's blackened reputation was comparable to making a contract with a monster.

With resolute adamancy, the redhaired sorceress interceded. "This meet and greet is nice and all, but we really need to get settled in. Long journey, ya know?"

"Of course!" Amelia understood, also wanting the subject to cease. "We have breakfast on the table."

Lina's eyes glistened with longing as salivation coated her ready tongue and anticipating teeth. "Enough for Gourry _and_ I?" she asked.

"And then some," Amelia smiled affably. Her gazed shifted and her eyelashes fluttered against the changing season's breeze. "Mister Zelgadis, after you eat, I thought we'd go on a stroll together in the garden—"

"You will be strolling with me, Amelia."

Amelia made a face at her grandmother's stunning declaration. "But at the table, you said that the garden—"

"Never mind, what I said, my dear," she dismissed. "Now, you will do as I say."

Plump pink lips pursed, and eyebrows narrowed in a boiling start of petulant defiance. Zelgadis recognized the physical signs and wisely decided to quench Amelia's disdain before a debacle broke out.

"It's all right, Amelia," he assured, catching her attention. "I need to speak with your father and unpack anyway."

That was true. He needed to report back to Phil and in total, had more pressing matters to attend to (like unlocking his discovered chest still hiding among the hay) than to saunter aimlessly around a garden he already knew well.

In the few instances he tarried at the palace, it was a common weekly ritual for him and Amelia to walk throughout the flourishing floral bosom the royal family was proud of maintaining. There, they talked about anything and everything. From books to magic, to who should be considered as the greatest philosophers of their time or how to properly regulate the manmade pond of Phil's prized koi fish. And, admittedly, as domestic as they were, the chats were often enjoyable. Ones he could submit or pass without any serious consequence. And he liked that. Control was always a benefit he lapped up. So, Vonzelle deciding for him without his consent left him both suspicious and bothered. Why did she care if Amelia wanted to take a walk with him? Was it because of his appearance? His tone, his inflection? Had he said the wrong thing?

_Probably all the above_, he thought sourly.

"Phil and the unpacking can wait," Lina said, interrupting his train of thought. "Let's just get to breakfast already!" When her stomach grieved for nourishment all went to the wayside.

"Yeah! Food!" Gourry cheered.

Deliriously hungry, or just believed they were, the traveling duo clambered their way to the entrance and raced to the dining room. Amelia thought back to her father and felt sorry for him. If he intended on returning to the table, he would most likely find flecks of ham, specks of scrambled eggs, and crumbs of toast on his once full plate.

"Come along, Amelia," Vonzelle ordered with a gesturing of her cane. For someone who did not see themselves as a bee, she was already buzzing her way over the gardens. "While your little friends fraternize in the unsavory business of gormandizing, we might as well make good use of the weather and take our stroll."

Amelia's shoulders dropped and she stooped in defeat. "All right," she breathed. Desperate, hopeful eyes glanced back at Zelgadis before exiting. "Maybe we can talk later this evening, Mister Zelgadis?"

"Well—"

"Amelia!"

It seemed Vonzelle had answered for her on that too.

* * *

"I'm sorry Prince Philionel, but this agreement won't do. My father specifically asked for at least three-fourths of the pasture along the border. I'm afraid your offering of an eighth will not suffice."

Phil watched as the pointer drew an imaginary line across the opened map of the nearby territory. He then looked to its possessor, who stood with polite yet unwavering adamancy.

The arrival should not have been a surprise. Time did not seem to matter. The land agreement made no promise in coming to a close with its delegates' endless revised propositions. But Phil was no coward of change. Peaceful negotiations were his forte. But even a Pacifist had to strategize regarding the best interest of his or her country.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Phil replied, tactfully. "If I'm not being too invasive, what does your father wish to do with the land? If you intend to negotiate for a larger portion, I feel as the acting ruler of Seyruun I have a right to know how it will be utilized."

"To raise and slaughter cattle," the young man enlightened. "Our meat production, particularly in beef, brings a large portion of revenue to Ralteague given our high population. So much so, the cattle have grown in numbers this year alone. Our people's livelihood depends on expanding the land."

The crown prince soaked in his words. Naturally, Phil forever tried to be cognizant of other kingdoms' potential welfares and goals. If their doings were not of an evil nature, he would not stand in the way of prosperous development. In this case, however, the crown prince was burdened with suspicious hesitancy.

Phil's eyes flickered as he fell silent. He breathed through his nostrils looking down, and then back up. "I understand your dilemma and can sympathize. But for anything to move forward, I must consider my own farmers' situation. My daughter Amelia is amidst negotiations with them herself regarding revising and expansion. If I were to take away a portion of land amid my daughter's proposal, I'm afraid it will only lead to strikes rather than settlements."

The young man's eyes cast a similar flicker, to redevise his own strategy. He paused for a long time, eyes trailing across the contents across the crown prince's desk. He stopped, subtly focused on the far edge of the desk and towering pile that stood.

Finally, he spoke. "Forgive me for prying, but what do these negotiations of expansion detail? Is her highness available now to discuss such future endeavors?"

"She is disposed of at the moment and will be all this afternoon."

"I see." A thoughtful pause followed. Then he decided. "I'll tell you what: If my father rewrites his proposal, one that can settle this land dispute fairly to meet both our needs, then I would be more than happy to have an audience with not only you, but your daughter as well. And on her time, as I understand it is valuable."

Phil released a half-expected chuckle. "Always the considerate delegator; much like your mother. Very well then."

"Thank you, Prince Philionel," he bowed slightly.

"Now, enough talk of business," Phil loosened, with a friendly thump on the back. "I'll walk you out."

Together, they exited the study and walked down the extensive hallway. Each relaxed step invited the opportunity to speak freely without rehearsed propriety.

"I imagine your father is preparing you to be duke once your brother takes the throne," Phil started, hands folded behind his back.

The young man nodded with a heavy foreboding sigh. "Oh, yes. It's all we talk about. I'm savoring my freedom while I still can."

"Freedom?" the crown prince repeated.

He paused and clarified. "I'm sorry; my bachelorhood."

"Ah..." The nodding ceased. Naturally, becoming the next duke of Ralteague meant the soon-to-be necessity of a wife. The mere assumption led to Phil's trailing thoughts. Was that why he hadn't seen his name in that irrepressible stack?

"So, you're engaged?" Phil deduced, seeking confirmation.

"Not presently," the young man clarified.

Phil arched a hairy brow. "So, there's _no one_ you're courting?"

The young man shook his head, immune to the often-received tone of surprise. They continued walking. "No. Apparently, my father still hasn't found a suitable replacement. But I'll be honest with you, I'm not complaining. I'm focused on my career right now."

He was aware by who and what the young man meant and so, concluded there was no need to stir up troublesome memories of the past. If anything, Phil was glad to see him look towards the future. Even if, he found it difficult to not ruminate…

"You mentioned you're also training to be the next captain of the guard, eh?" the crown prince released a small approved grin, trying to ease his curiously pressing mind. "A fine accomplishment indeed."

"It's an honor I'm proud and humble to fulfill." A twinkle of pride shimmered in his eyes.

"I see…" Everywhere he glanced, Phil sought for a distraction. He didn't realize until then how drab the walls were of his constant milieu. Perhaps, a painting or too outside of his private corridors would do the halls wonders.

His attention was lost from there. Stolen by the hollering temptation to press further for an understanding.

"By any chance, how old are you now?" Phil piped up. "Forgive me, but I've seemed to have lost track of time," he tactfully reminisced with intent. "Seems like it was just yesterday when I met that frog fanatic ten-year-old boy!"

The young man's eyes fell to the floor, adjusting his throat in hopes of avoidance of reminiscing his former naïve self. "I just turned twenty-four, your grace," he declared.

"Well, then you've got all the time in the world not only for your career but for you to marry," Phil surmised with a mirthful wink. "Most men in your position often wait until their thirties."

"Yes well, I doubt my father will want me to wait that long," he revealed, with a touch of dread. "He says if I wait too long it'll become difficult for myself, especially since he most likely wants me to marry a young respectable woman of 'exceptional breeding'," he quoted, almost as if his voice visibly cringed on his behalf. He swallowed and continued. "Considering young women prefer not to marry men twice their age, let alone ten years. I can't really blame them."

Phil nodded understandingly. He had witnessed this mildly oppositional response before just yesterday. _Typical among today's changing youth_, he mused silently. And he could not blame them for protesting tired traditions.

What he didn't expect was what came out of the young man's mouth.

"I do not mean to pry," he suddenly started, "but I couldn't help but notice the letters you had sitting aside on your desk. Your daughter is receiving offers of courtship, is she not?"

"They have been coming in," Phil answered.

"I don't envy you." His lips finally turned upward. His eyes wandered. "Finding the right match for her…" He shook his head, still grinning. "That must be quite a challenge."

Phil translated his words into two different responses. One, he assumed was a typical reaction he often reciprocated. The righteous cliché of wanting nothing more than the best for his precious daughter; the other, implicit passive accusations. Yes, the crown prince of Seyruun was renowned for his unconventionally modern beliefs and practices. Neighboring countries labeled him as the 'Pacifist progressive oddball of the leading world'. This surely, by the translation of the snide political grapevine, conceived the belief that Crown Prince Philionel's daughter must be a dotty privileged girl thinking and acting as if she could behave, fight, and participate in the same league as any other distinguished man.

Phil's mustache twitched. A raw nerve was hit by underlining suspicion. He held back and kept his countenance in check as he coolly but abruptly asked, "What do you think of my daughter Amelia?"

"The princess?" The young man lowered his eyebrows, his forehead slightly wrinkled. "I haven't seen her since we were children, Prince Philionel, so my opinion of her would be quite useless to you."

"Hmm." His head meandered with nodding. Once it stood still, he shot the young man with an intrigued stare. "Then how did you conclude that finding a match for her would be a challenge?"

"I just meant because as her father, you have reasonably high expectations," he countered with fumbling care. "Knowing you as a person, you obviously care about her welfare, so you wouldn't settle for anything less of what you believe she deserves."

He could smell the anxiety and deceit on his pious bovine breath. The subtle shifting eyes and rebirthed lump in the throat gave Phil ample leverage as he closed in. "And what do you believe are reasonably high expectations?" the crown prince pressed.

The young man released a short nervous bark of laughter, his eyes wandering to the side before casting back to meet Phil's. "Crown Prince Philionel, forgive me for sounding rude, but what is this line of questioning about?"

"I noticed you never sent a letter of a proposal," Phil admitted. "I was just surprised given your status and rank. I thought your father would have wanted you to."

"The subject was never discussed," he revealed. Bristled with irritation, a shift in tone erupted. It was still direct and forthcoming; but the faint lines around his mouth, the rapid stiffness in posture, and intensifying of serious eyes revealed the awoken stroking of brusque clarification. "Forgive me when I say this, your highness, regardless of what my father wishes of me, I personally have no interest in courting your daughter. Our meetings are strictly business and nothing more. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return home before nightfall. Until then, Prince Philionel."

He did not allow his face to illustrate shock by the young man's blatant gumption. In return, he nodded and permitted his guest to depart with a final bow. As the young man turned on his feet, Phil's lips pursed under his untamed mustache and his eyes slit with careful watch. His thoughts dipped and swerved, rationalizing the ever-slightest emotional upheaval he provoked.

Without any delay, the young man abandoned Phil's side and did not look back. But the crown prince already had a new array of company on their way. Rounding the corner, three sets of feet emerged from the connecting hallway. With Lina at the helm, she, Zelgadis, and Gourry far behind passed the departing young man. With steady eyes focused ahead little attention was given to his presence. But there was a glimpse from Lina. A sudden reactive glimpse, where eyes had a mind of their own. Thoughts of reporting to Phil drifted away as impeccable virile Herculean features beckoned like a sea to its shore.

Responding involuntary, a high-pitched production of breath flew between the sorceress's teeth. Lina's lips smacked together. Her eyes then dashed from the intended receiver and quickened her steps. She couldn't believe what she had just done! The abrupt whistle was like an explosion of dynamite to her ears, that Lina could only imagine how everyone else in near proximity perceived it. Instantaneously, the embarrassment crept its way out of her skin. Her face was enveloped in a curtain of red, bursting at the seams of her hand-covered folded lips with wide frightened eyes. Desperately, she fought the tempting but frightful desire to envisage what aggrieved countenance was worn by the handsome stranger.

_Did I just seriously whistle? Oh, God! Just walk and don't look back!_

As her feet shuffled speedily, the sorceress did not observe the sheer distance now between her and her comrades. Still trailing behind Zelgadis, Gourry noticed the young man stop in his tracks, and so, he gave him a courteous smile. Was he in need of something? The swordsman thought to ask, but uncertainty blossomed as he was confronted with an expression of perturbance. His smile shrank, blinking with befuddlement as the young man picked up his pace and disappeared around the very corner they came from.

Soon, Gourry joined Zelgadis at his side, searching for an explanation as to what just transpired. "Why did that guy give me a funny look?"

"Because Lina whistled," Zelgadis stated.

"So?"

Zelgadis walked past him unmoved. "I believe he thought it was you."

Frozen, Gourry stood agape until his feet caught up with his mind, stomping over to Lina's side. "Ah, c'mon Lina!" he bellowed. "Did you have to do that? Now, that guy thinks I'm into him!"

She had no intention to attract meretricious looks nor upset from her quixotic act. Her heart raced at her friend's ignited questioning. "I— I didn't mean to!" Lina stammered, hiding her shame from upheaved blue eyes as she shrunk her neck into the collar of her cape. "It just sort of uh— slipped out."

"Slipped out? Ever heard of think before you speak?" he badgered pitifully.

"Or whistle in this case," Zelgadis corrected.

"Just stop worrying about it!" Lina insisted, finally meeting his gaze. "It's not like you're going to see him any time soon." The hotness in her face faded by the defensive strategy of combative dexterity of easing.

"Ya really think so?" the swordsman asked, unsure.

"Absolutely!" she assured with gusto, waving her hand as she sped past him. "You worry _waaay_ too much."

When they reunited with Phil at the front door of his study, it was the first time, and most likely only time, she was relieved to see him.

"Ah, Miss Lina!" he greeted with open arms and bombastic warmth. "So nice to see you all made it back in one piece!"

"It's nice to see Seyruun wasn't randomly invaded by monsters or radicals while we were gone either," Lina joshed. "Say, what's with all the surprise guests anyway? First your mother-in-law and now some mystery guy we saw in the hall?"

Phil's smile vanished. His resounding voice fell quiet. "Oh. I see you met Vonzelle. I'm sorry if she upset you. I would have warned you all she was coming had I known in the first place. She just showed up last night."

"Why are you apologizing for her if you don't even know what she said?" Gourry inquired.

"Because I know her," he answered with squinted dubious eyes. "And as for the mystery man, that was Prince Derek Ackerley. The second in line for Ralteague's throne."

Lina balked. "You're joking?" She allowed the gaping of her mouth to hide any return of redness to her flared cheeks. _Oh, great! That's just great! I just whistled at a prince!_

Placing her hands on her hips she leaned forward and lectured. "You could have warned us one of the princes from the very place we just stole ice cream from", she made sure to say in a harsh whisper, in case, somehow, he was gifted with supersonic hearing, "was here!"

"I had no idea he was coming by this morning either," Phil defended, ushering them into his study. "It's just been one of those weeks where I have been bamboozled!" He closed the door and walked to his chair. "Derek just showed up out of the blue, you see." Phil shook his head and sighed. "Typical Henry. Sending one of his sons to do his dirty work."

"Who's Henry?" Gourry asked, crashing into the eggplant dyed velvet sofa stationed against the far wall of the room.

Lina soon joined the swordsman, making herself comfortable by folding her hands behind her head and propping herself up against the accompanying matching pillows. "I think that one's pretty obvious, Gourry," she perceived. "He's the king of Ralteague."

Phil nodded in confirmation. "At least it was Derek," he acknowledged. "He may be Henry's son, but at least he's cordial and reasonable… Most of the time. At the end of the day, he knows when to stand down. If Henry had sent his eldest, Peyton, he'd be pestering me until I signed that land agreement."

"Land agreement?" Lina echoed, the only factor capturing interest to her decisive ears.

"Recently, Ralteague presented evidence suggesting a portion along the border between Dabuon and the capital of Seyruun stands as unclaimed land," Phil begun to elucidate. "I was always under the impression it was Seyruun territory, but they say otherwise… So now we are negotiating a fair division."

"If this land agreement business has anything to do with the cattle pasture, then I think we all know very well what they intend to use it for," Zelgadis presumed, leaning against the wall, across from where his employer was parked.

"You guessed right," Phil confirmed. "Prince Derek claims they are inquiring for more land due to their beef production, but I'm convinced they are using it to expand their ice cream scheme.

"Speaking of which," his voice lightened, now looking to Lina, "did you manage to get a sample?"

"More like _gallons _worth," Zelgadis scoffed.

"Details, details," Lina waved, ignoring her friend's sarcasm. "Let's just say we got more than enough for you to taste, test, and compare down in the kitchens. You can thank me anytime with payment _and_ a generous tip too."

A rumbling chuckle poured from the crown prince's throat. "I wouldn't expect any less from you, Miss Lina. Now," he ruminated to himself, peering down at his desk, "where did I place your payment? I know I sat it aside for safekeeping…"

Leaning forward, Lina scanned over Phil's swarm of scattered papers. Most pieces were dictated with political agendas that would make her head spin with annoyance and exhaustion. Others, such as ink stamped letters, carried a tantalizing quality to the perceptive mind. Whatever the letters contained the plethora was an overwhelming wave to Phil's oar which struggled to combat.

"Geez! You've been getting a lot of mail!" the sorceress exclaimed.

With one hand in the air, holding a piece of paper, Phil glanced down. He then blinked back at the amazed spectators. "None in which are really for me," he explained, returning to his endless rummaging, "They're uh— for Amelia."

"Ah," Lina realized. She folded her arms across her chest and cocked an eye. "So, you've got a band full of suitors knocking on your door."

"Yes," he confirmed, with a tired sigh. "And I've only accumulated this pile in the last couple of months."

"But why so many at once?" Gourry questioned, stumped.

"Amelia is of eligible age to be married now. And once people find out word spreads. My ancestors have transformed our nation into a powerful and reliable country. And unfortunately, because of that, people see Amelia as an advantage to facilitate a political arrangement to their benefit."

Lina pursed her lips in thought. As twisted as it was to oversee one's fate, the monarchy's tradition made sense. The number of letters and writers behind them who wish to have their shot of becoming the next future king of Seyruun was really no surprise. There was an abundance to gain. Wealth, status, heritage, control, power, legacy, economic growth, trade agreements, _endless pastures_ to be specific… But these beneficial arrangements happened everywhere. Young women like Amelia were doomed to face arranged matrimony at one point of their life or another. And she could only imagine the intensity of the pressure not only Phil was feeling but Amelia herself.

If being a commoner had one perk, Lina was glad she could choose who she wished to marry without needing anyone's consent. Then again, at least, from what Lina assumed, Amelia would be showered with beautiful gifts and men with straight pearly teeth. Men who chased her tail (_without_ provocation) often had two furry chins with a complimentary naked head... and wandering hands. Definitely not her type and certainly not someone she'd bring home to her parents.

Lina sulked at the thought. Life had a cruel sense of humor.

"And now I have all these letters to go through by the end of tonight," Phil huffed, staring down at the ominous stack that dared him to wave that convenient little white flag.

"Why tonight?" Gourry asked.

"My mother-in-law," Phil responded exhaustingly. "That's the reason she's visiting. She hopes to get Amelia engaged as soon as possible. And knowing her, I'm sure she already has someone in mind."

Zelgadis, who was content staying silent up until this point, finally grimaced. "Did that Prince Derek fellow throw his hat into the ring?" he questioned sharply.

"Quite the opposite, actually," Phil announced with wide eyes. "He claimed he had no interest in courting Amelia. Very openly in fact. Yet he noticed the letters and brought it up in the first place."

"Sounds like a snob to me," Lina speculated, leaning back into the sofa. "Probably hurt his ego you didn't personally ask him to be a candidate."

"Maybe… But I don't think so," Phil resolved, shaking his head. "It seems he's doing everything in his power to _avoid_ getting married. I can't really blame him. His former fiancée died some years ago. He must have taken it hard."

_Not only that, _he thought, disgruntled,_ but he seems to have already formed opinions about MY Amelia too… Of all the nerve… However, … He could really… If only— Yes!_

"But then again…" There was a lightness that claimed the crown prince's face, slowly but surely considering and braving to speak his newly borne idea. Finally, he spoke. "In theory, it would be to our benefit if he showed interest in Amelia."

By his words alone, the sorceress went pale and returned his sudden idea with carefully concerned eyes. "Uh Phil, is it just me or is that crown of yours on too tight?"

"I think it fits him fine," Gourry stated, and he grinned at her with innocent assurance.

"Rest assured Miss Lina, it fits just fine!" Phil joined in, laughing from the bottom of his belly to his thick throat.

Lina's glower shifted from right to left. Without any restraint, she was about to slap them both silly upside the head. "That's not what I meant!" the sorceresses bleated in frustration.

"I know what you meant, Miss Lina," Phil chortled, which only seemed to further bristle her nerves. "I was just thinking if Prince Derek was a suitor, it would make things much easier for us to see what Ralteague might be up to."

Heated frustration left Lina's flaring nostrils and retreated to the rich warmth of her red hair. She paused and blinked. "You make a good point. That's very underhanded of you, Phil," she soon noted with a sly smile. "Using both a man's personal ambition _and_ Amelia's feelings to your own benefit."

"Oh, I didn't mean to use Amelia!" the crown prince waved animatedly.

"But wouldn't you be technically?" Gourry countered, twisting his mouth to the side as if cogitating.

Phil slouched his shoulders. "Touché. But I wouldn't seriously consider him as a choice given our current rancor with Ralteague. Besides, even if I did, it would be pointless…. I doubt Amelia would find common ground with him. Ralteague does believe in justice— _swift justice_… Decapitation to be exact. And I know Amelia wouldn't stand for such practices. I can only imagine how she'll react to Prince Derek when he returns with his father's revised proposal.

"But whom am I to say what the boy's like based on his father's ruling? Maybe, Amelia would like him," Phil debated, though, after the performance he was given today by the man in question, it was natural for him to carry doubts. Still, he tried to not let the incident cloud his judgment. Or what his daughter might think of the prince.

"Lina sure does," Gourry snorted, nudging her in the arm with his toned elbow, "and she doesn't even know him."

Lina could feel her nerves tingle at the sight of Phil's perplexed expression shifting back and forth from her to Gourry. She wanted no further discussion of her embarrassing performance. Teasing was one of her very few kryptonite's she wished to stay unbeknownst to her friends… and enemies if possible.

"It was a slip of the tongue!" Lina confessed, raising her voice an octave while flailing her arms about for dramatic effect.

"You can say that again," Zelgadis goaded.

"Let's not talk about it!" she insisted.

As if a lightbulb went off above his head, Phil laid one large hand out flat and allowed a great tightened fist to crash into it. "Say, I have a real humdinger!" he proclaimed, smiling from cheek to cheek. "If you kids have the time, would you mind helping me make a dent in these here letters? I can't possibly read them all by tonight!"

They were Amelia's closest friends, so logically, they would know the most about her and what she ultimately desired in a life partner. Still, even if it was just to ease Vonzelle's invasive nature, Lina was hesitant helping in where her best friend could be potentially used as a political pawn.

"Uh sure, but— what exactly would we be looking for? Political positions? Rank? Status?" she asked, pointing at the conundrum now passed onto her.

"Not really. I'm more interested in who they are as people and the good they have done rather than where they were born, who they were born to, and how they got their title."

Typical Phil. He was an unconventional ruler by most world leaders' standards, so naturally, he did not factor 'good breeding' like most nobility. He was looking at character and likeability. Which was in favor of Amelia's current position. But still…

"I guess we could help but, shouldn't we also clue Amelia in on this?" Gourry reminded. "I mean, she's the one who's going to marry one of these guys, after all."

"Amelia's not going to marry anyone in this stack," Phil promised. "At least, not without her willingness and consent. I would never make her do anything she's not comfortable with. I'm only doing this to keep Vonzelle at bay. And if I must entertain this idea, I should at least choose someone of worth and value or someone who would treat Amelia kindly."

"Why do you think Amelia won't marry anyone in these letters?" Gourry went on asking. Honestly, he did not understand why commitment and romance had to be so unnecessarily complicated in the world of royalty.

"Because she's made it clear she doesn't want to," Phil stated. "And I'm not going to force her by any means. She just needs time. Pressuring her would only push her away and I don't want that."

He knew from the incredible strength and endurance of his body, that leaning against the wall for a long period of time would have no effect in creating a backache. But he used it as an excuse to his subconscious, permitting him to abandon his usual perch and make his exit.

"You two go ahead if you want," Zelgadis announced to his friends before turning to his employer. "I apologize Philionel, but I have other matters that require my immediate attention."

"And what matters are these, Zel?" Lina pushed with a watchful eye.

"None of your business," he returned flatly.

"Of course, Mister Zelgadis. I understand," Phil replied. There was a silent exchange between the two. Something passing from each other's eyes. It was likely, not intentional. But in constant company with a variety of people, Phil had come to understand when declaration was impossible, and implication was.

"We'll talk more about your trip later then," he carried on. "Thank you for your time and help."

Zelgadis nodded and with that, left the study ignoring the skeptical eyeing of the redhead. Once the door clicked shut, Lina focused on the crown prince and cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you always let him off the hook that easily?" she asked, gesturing her thumb towards the door in which Zelgadis made his departure.

When Phil was about to answer, the doors burst open with a thunderous clamor. Before them stood Ernoldous, panting and collecting a streak of sweat from his forehead. Between breaths, he straightened his posture and cleared his congested throat.

"Forgive me Prince Philionel for intruding, but your highness's presence has been requested at once concerning a dire matter!"

"What is it, Ernoldous?" Phil demanded, rising from his seat.

Could Seyruun be under attack? They were no strangers to monsters' usurping or invading. What could possibly be next?

"Four dairy cows have just been reported as missing at the Sutton Farm!"

Phil's fists tightened and his teeth clenched.

No. This was the work of humans.

* * *

**A/N Count: **Thank you all for reading! I had a few notes here I'd like to mention regarding this chapter. I noticed Ralteague is never mentioned in the anime (from what I can recall, at least. Forgive me if I have forgotten!), so I thought why not expand upon this country and its possible rulers?

I did a little research and learned that in the novels Dabuon is the capital city of Ralteague and that there was some kind of conflict that resulted in deaths among the original royal family before the beginning of the actual series. So, for the purpose of this fanfic, I created my own vision of the royal family, perhaps relatives who claimed the throne after the original family tragically passed. In any case, it's always a pleasure to delve into the Slayers world and develop further on the workings of its countries just for pure fun! :)

Lastly, the idea of Vonzelle earning accolades in her social position for doing charity work is loosely based on the character of similar actions Lady Hyacinth D'Ysquith from a _Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder_. A hilarious musical to check out!

Now, what is to come next? Is Ralteague behind the disappearances of the missing cows? And what of this Prince Derek and this supposed land agreement? Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	4. Happenstance

**Author's Note: **Hello again, my readers! :) Thank you so much for your patience. I have been working on this chapter since last week and am glad to have finished and be moving onto the next. I will continue to do my best to stick to a writing schedule and update at least once a month.

I would like to give another special shoutout to MrsTolan! Thank you very much for another lovely review. I have enjoyed reading your thoughts (particularly about good ol' Phil! He's always a delight to write for.) and appreciate your time. I would also like to congratulate you and your husband on your expecting bundle of joy. How exciting! How wonderful! I wish you both the best and send wishes of good health! :)

And with that, I hope you all enjoy this next installment!

**Disclaimer: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 4

**Happenstance **

He had to think this through carefully.

It seemed silly, but Zelgadis was determined to keep his find a secret, even to the employees that roamed the castle. Once leaving Phil's study, he journeyed to the royal stables where the wagon was held. While Lina and Gourry indulged in their morning feast, he took it upon himself to ensure the barrels of ice cream made it to the kitchens. From there, he continued to hide his discovery among the lumps of hay until he went back to secure it.

To many, the chest would have been heavy and cumbersome. It weighed nothing in the arms of the chimera. At times like these, he was thankful for his modified body. Sometimes, he would even boast when he caught gleaming eyes of amazement. But there was no audience to boast to at present which he was more than fine with. The privacy enabled him to carry the chest to the back of the palace where the lawn before the garden laid. There, he spotted the balcony of his rooms above and commanded for levitation. Once on the balcony, he did a quick picking of his lock.

Finally, he entered sanctuary.

As he entered his bedroom, Zelgadis scanned all of Gingersnap's preferred nests. When he did not see her, he concluded she was in Amelia's rooms, in which, he'd go search for her later. At the very least, he was guaranteed that when he opened the chest, its mysterious contents would not be disturbed by notorious feline curiosity. And so, he tossed his traveling sack on his bedside, placed the chest on the floor, and went to work. It was a tedious endeavor but one worth enduring. The more he held his focus, the more sweat droplets formed and soon cascaded down his forehead. Everything else around him vanished as he persevered. The slight breeze drifting from his balcony doors or the faint footsteps marching outside in the hallway were effortlessly dismissed.

It was only the sudden distinct knock at his door that broke his intense concentration. But he ignored it anyway. Within a few seconds, the footsteps moved slowly and depressingly from his door, as if capable of sighing. Still, he did not give any undivided attention.

As time drifted on with no results, Zelgadis's face contorted in bubbling frustration. Rocky eyebrows furrowed and clumped and teeth grinded and hurt. The glowing ball pulsating from his hands fought to stay alive against the unabated current and so, eventually gave out in defeat. Zelgadis breathed deeply, cursed under his breath and leaned back onto his nightstand.

The lock refused to budge. It was magically sealed, which would require a great deal of attention, time, and expertise to break the spell. He considered casting a flow break (and his magic was amplified enough to do so) but a challenge remained. He needed stability; another party to cast the flow break while he tinkered with the understanding as to what kind of magical seal was placed.

If he requested aid, his options were limited. Asking Lina, who despite being the strongest magic-user in his company, had a reputation of blinding greed. Whatever was contained in the box, Zelgadis bore a foreboding feeling that she would take her fair share, and perhaps, lead him down another mystical rabbit hole that would only further distance himself from his cure.

His only reliable option was Amelia. Looking to her for assistance wasn't rare. They were often thrown together in battle, and when they were, Zelgadis admitted how well they were in synch of each other's impending actions and thoughts. But even so… Asking for help had become a foreign concept. He preferred solving problems on his own without burdening others. And he certainly did not want to look weak or helpless in the eyes of the people he knew.

Being weak… his mind traveled back to earlier days when he was younger, naïve, full of wishes that would make him impeccably strong and agile; those who dared to challenge him would cower in fear. Those long years ago reminded him of when his sparring was at its stride and his magic was adequate— But he hungered for more. Invincibility felt millions of miles away from his eager tongue. Without consent, he got his wish… And now he harbored the frustrating regret of losing what he once had. Like vengeful clockwork, Zelgadis blamed Rezo for that, but he knew, to some extent, it was arguably weak.

There was no other alternative. His friendship with a certain pummeling-monster hero of justice was his only meal ticket to normalcy. And she would do so without complaint or hesitancy. No matter when their paths crossed, Amelia was always eager to inquire about his investigation or to offer leads she dug up in the packed shelves of the royal library. And he recognized this. He knew she treated him differently from everyone else. And not in a patronizing or obligatory way. There was a sense of dignity, respect, and compassion that was seldom dispensed to him. Her unlimited kindness allowed her to do so. And while Amelia's vivacious spirit clashed with his shade of gloom and doom, he could not say that her rays of sunshine did not lighten his perpetual rain showers and cackling thunder everyone now and again.

Zelgadis fixated on the door. A soft sigh fell from his blue-tinted lips. Now he wished he hadn't ignored the knock.

* * *

Bundled up in a scarf, Lina combated the chill from the fluctuating temperature.

A mild breeze hung in the gray painting above the Sutton Farm property. Trailing behind Phil, she and Gourry trekked up the steep hillside towards the awaiting pasture ahead. Withering dandelions dispersed against the pummeling of their boots, sending their dying seeds afloat in the evoked whispering of the autumn wind. Lina knew her thoughts called for attention on disappearing cattle, but her mind wandered to the tantalizing drama the letters had swept in like unwanted house guests.

When it came to matters of the heart, Lina relied on her instincts rather than confirmation. Close observations of gestures, touches, unspoken truths between sealed lips and responsive eyes… She knew it all sounded tediously romantic, but there was truth to longing glances and everything in between.

Frankly, Lina found Amelia and Zelgadis dancing around each other's feelings ridiculous. It felt so needlessly complicated to her. They had known each other for years, traveled together and fought side by side. Seeing the best and worst in each other. The sorceress figured you couldn't get any more intimate than that. Not that she had any _similar_ experiences or anything… It should have been easy to declare any harboring feelings. More so than lately, they were occupied in each others' business and company. She reasoned, there must have been boundless opportunities the two had to exchange affections. But then again, Lina considered how difficult it must have been for Amelia to be _in love_ with someone as emotionally distant as Zelgadis let alone _tell _him. And as for Zelgadis…

Lina made a face and groaned inwardly. _Ugh! Men!_

Speaking of men, she wondered if what she witnessed was apparent to Phil as well. Dare she say, he was a more experienced man in the art of age and romance. The crown prince was never shy of expressing his feelings. Maybe he wouldn't be so nearly swayed by Zelgadis's excuses and cowardly reasons for remaining in static life.

Lina peered at the back of the crown prince's head as she walked behind him as if somehow, she would achieve sudden telepathy. "I wonder if Phil really knows why Zelgadis wanted to leave his study all of a sudden," the sorceress pondered out loud, cupping her chin in her hand.

"Well, it's obvious there was a reason he doesn't want to be here," Gourry pointed out.

"Because he has to brood at some secret location at a specific time?" Lina joked.

Gourry snorted and shook his head. "C'mon Lina. Even I _know_ why."

Lina's lips curved downward. His oblivious cockiness to her sarcasm was unamusing. "Do you Gourry? Do you?" she threw back.

"Yeah," he replied, in his typical innocent tone. "Last night when, well, nature called," he blushed (which just made Lina roll her eyes at his silly modesty). "I saw him loading something in the back of the wagon. He's probably going back to get it."

Lina's eyes bulged at his sudden reveal. "Wait. Was he eating _our _share of the ice cream? I thought one of the barrels looked slightly empty!" she accused and then scoffed. 'It would all go to my hips and stay there until I die' my ass!"

"I don't think so," Gourry countered slowly. Zelgadis kept a strict diet. If he hungered for anything it certainly wasn't food. "Looked like a box or something."

"What are you saying?" she pressed, now intrigued. "He found something out in the woods and didn't tell us?"

The swordsman shrugged. "That's kinda what it looked like."

Lina narrowed her eyebrows and turned an eye to the ground beneath. Zelgadis never bothered to disclose his doings. Which wasn't a surprise. But finding potential treasure in the middle of the woods, on a path where a prominent family had supposedly_ died_ and that they were warned _not_ to take by a deranged old woman… What did he find? All Lina assumed was that it must have been a real bonafide discovery for him to keep it to himself. If he hid it in the back of the wagon with the barrels, it must not have been too big or startling noticeable to draw attention... Now all she wanted to know was what her elusive friend was up to!

But reality called her back into focus. At the top of the hill, they were greeted by a thriving rolling pasture, occupied by hundreds of dairy cows and their offspring. In the distance, stood an aged man and woman, who waved their hands wildly in the air to gain attention. Phil motioned his head to Lina and Gourry, urging them to pick up their pace. As they raced along the bumpy land, Gourry was entranced by wide-eyed infantile faces and bubbling pink noses.

"These guys are pretty cute," he mused, tickled in amusement by the stumbling romping of the calves.

"Yeah, they are. It almost makes me miss home," Lina chimed in, running beside him.

"Because you get to feed and play with them?" Gourry concluded.

"Yeah. But then there's the slaughtering."

All the color in the swordsman's face drained. His eyes diverted to the ground. There, his mind withdrew to a disheartening dark place. In sheer horror, he balked at the comparison of the premature face before him to his utmost favorite; the rendered ever so _tender_ roast beef.

"Did ya have to mention that?!" he bellowed, fighting the start of tears.

The sorceress bit her lip. _I didn't mean to make him feel bad!_ "Calm down, Gourry!" Lina urged sensibly. "These are dairy cows. They're not meant to be consumed!"

"Okay fine, but what will happen to that lil' guy over there?" he pointed behind them. "He's a male so he can't make milk!"

_Nice way of putting it._ "They'll probably use him for breeding," she reasoned.

"Oh, so he'll have a pretty good life then, huh?"

"Yeah," Lina replied flatly, "if you want to put it like that."

_Never mind he'll reap all the benefits while the females are REALLY the ones who make this place run! _she retorted silently. _God am I seriously thinking about the sexism of cows?! If there's ever a time to dive deep into societal exploitations of being a heifer this isn't it!_

Their legs were given a reprieve as Lina, Gourry, and Phil came before the awaiting pair. There, stood Ihon Sutton and his wife, Dae, whose faces demonstrated the displeasure of the circumstances regarding their meeting. The farmer was considerably tall and lean with gnawed hands and dirt ridden fingertips. Beside him was the farm's dog, a scruffy terrier, barking its high pitch cry continuously for the sake that they were strangers and they simply did not belong on the property. Then, there was Dae, who bore a slender face and fine wispy hair. Together, their style of dress mirrored their dishabille manner. Life on a farm never called for being prim and pretty.

Lina and Gourry stood back and remained as spectators as Phil took the lead.

"Prince Philionel, thank goodness you came!" Dae declared, cradling his colossal hands into hers.

He nodded, patting her hands. "Of course, Mrs. Sutton." His attention turned to the farmer. "Now, what happened, Ihon?"

"We have no idea," he admitted, scratching his head. "I came out 'ere to check on one of our pregnant heifers, and I realized _she_ was missin'. Along with two others."

Phil lowered his eyebrows. "Oh, dear. Are you certain they were all accounted for this morning?"

"I counted 'em myself last night and this mornin' when me and the boys let 'em out into the pasture," Ihon verified. "Somethin' must have happened to 'em a couple of hours ago."

"And you saw no signs of foul play?" Phil asked, beguiled.

"Nothing!" Dae exclaimed. "Our dog is constantly with the cows and she didn't make one peep the entire morning!" she sniffed, repeatedly dabbing her sunken cheekbones with a now moist handkerchief. "It's like they just disappeared out of thin air! I just don't understand it… You must understand Prince Philionel, it may seem silly to some, but those cows are like children to me. And to think a pregnant one has been stolen…"

Phil nodded understandingly, and when he observed the soiled dampness of her handkerchief, he offered her his own. She relished the attention and thanked him fervently while her husband remained stiff, casting a serious glaze over his eyes.

"This can't happen again," Ihon began, determinedly. "I'm not the kind of man to jump to conclusions your highness but considerin' the rumors we've heard from Dabuon and now this… that's why we asked for you. Our livelihood could very well be at stake! I don't wanna risk my daughter and son-in-law's ice cream business in the city let alone our own. We have a reputation to uphold in this community. We have our family name attached to their business. We're the founders! Not to mention, I've got my own suppliers in the city countin' on me too. I don't need anyone in Dabuon thinkin' they can soil my family's name for some cheap knockoff!"

The fire of passion and loyalty festered in the farmer's eyes. It may have also been his waving fist, ruddy turned face (and was that steam coming out of his ears?) that caught Phil's undivided attention. Nonetheless, he understood when an unjust act was enough to rile a person with indignation; especially when it came to protecting his or her prospects and the people closest to them.

"I understand completely," Phil replied calmly. "Rest assured, this will be investigated. And you can count on my full support. In the meantime, I will personally see to it that security will be provided to the farm by tonight."

"Thank you, Prince Philionel!" Dae adulated, breaking out into a hopeful smile. "If there's anything we can do—"

"Easy now, Dae," her husband hushed. She listened dutifully as he peered at the prince with less than convinced eyes. "Nothing has been done _yet_."

"There's no need for repayment," Phil assured sincerely, knowing the man's wariness of the upper class's flaunting of 'promises'. "Now Ihon, if you will permit it, may my friends and I examine the area? Just out of sheer curiosity. In case something might have been overlooked."

The farmer released a deep exhale through his nose and grumbled, "Suit yourself."

* * *

At last, Amelia could breathe.

After a painstaking tour of the garden, Vonzelle required a nap before lunch was to be served. Once she showed her to her rooms, Amelia hastily searched the castle for wanted company. To be specific, Zelgadis. Vonzelle may have deprived them of a walk, but the princess would not allow the opportunity to catch up slip away from her hands again. Hopeful, she ventured to his rooms, and repetitively knocked on the door. She had thought she heard someone inside but accepted there was to be no answer when the doorknob remained unturned. Disappointed but determined, the princess made a mental checklist to visit the few places Zelgadis would potentially be.

Her first destination was the royal library. When she arrived, she found it to be empty. No books were removed from the shelves and no pillows were disturbed and smashed by comfortably seated visitors. From there, she went to destination number two. The observatory. It was a long walk to the secluded area, but Amelia prayed it would be worthwhile. Upon opening the door, her hopeful heart was dashed by no signs of life. Telescopes remained untouched and papers scattered about a wide wooden desk harbored a light coating of dust. Amelia's shoulders drooped and she blew out a dejected huff as she closed the door.

Returning to the center of the palace, she bumped into a bustling Ernoldous. Before she could speak, he passed along a message from her father, informing the princess of the missing dairy cows and that Lina and Gourry tagged along. She then asked about Zelgadis's whereabouts (knowing he was the chimera's personal manservant that her father had appointed), but alas, Ernoldous had not seen him since his initial arrival.

At this point, Amelia suppressed her discontentment and gave up on her hunt for Zelgadis. If she wasted any more time inquiring and looking, she'd likely find her grandmother back at her side. There, she would continue to rattle in her ear about prospective suitors with deep pockets and how ladies should not show the ideal vantage point of the garden by climbing trees in heels and flouncing revealing skirts for all perverse spectators to gawk and relish at.

By this notion, Amelia swiftly scampered to her rooms. Her grand escape consisted of a necessary wardrobe change and a quick jaunt to the royal stables. Dressed in the appropriate garbs for the weather, she snuggled down into a long-sleeved belted tunic, thick leggings, riding boots, and a cotton scarf draped about her neck. Once she entered the stables, a smile of relief graced her lips. There, with carrot in tow, she found a reliable four-legged friend who bore incomparable patience.

Daddy had acquired the young ivory mare as a birthday present and Amelia couldn't have asked for anything better. _She's got a lot of spirit!_ she recalled Daddy chortling when they were properly introduced. _But a heart of gold! She is the ideal companion for any fighter of justice!_

And there was no debate about that. Her pure white snout hung over the wooden gate and large powerful teeth eagerly snapped for the bright orange treat. Within minutes, the carrot was devoured. Just as quickly, Amelia prepped her riding gear, harnessed her mare, jumped on top, and rode out the palace gates. She decided her destination would lie on the outskirts of the capital, as it would do wonders not only for her horse but for her jumbled mind as well. Somewhere deep in the quiet peacefulness of the neighboring woods, Amelia hoped to find a place for her companion to graze while she, would perch on an exceptional branch just high enough to swing her feet freely and get lost in one of her idyllic novels.

Riding beyond the city limits, Amelia was intoxicated by the wild blusters of the wind. A parade of tingles and chills danced upon her flushed cheeks all the way to the tips of her blowing locks. The restrained chains of expectations were released and the wide-open yonder was her gateway to momentary paradise. Outside palace walls, she witnessed the beauty of the changing seasons. The blowing winds across the shriveling grass created a daisy chain of dying leaves that dove high and low like a silent symphony of harvest time. The drifting of fallen pinecones and sap of cedar trees soared up her nostrils, warming her heart with thoughts of a cozy lit fireplace and roasted acorns to savor.

She only wished the winds would go beyond her dreamy sensations. She craved to be carried elsewhere; somewhere tranquil where all could be made right and words of persuasion and acts of trouble were all resolved and forgotten. But she would have to return to the reality of castle guards, high corridors, stacks of paperwork— which were all things she promised to do her utmost best for. But facilitated unwanted courting... Just thinking about it, made the unimaginable feel increasingly closer to becoming true. Amelia nudged the side of her horse and trotting hooves picked up their pace. The farther she traveled, the desire to fly the coop burned brighter. At times like these, Amelia lamented that if her mother was still among the living, this suitor business might be a little less painful.

Daylight faded in the dense shelter of the woods. Amelia held tight against the reigns and squinted up. High above in the trees, holes of light shone through thinning dying leaves. Spotlights upon the ground created an erratic path throughout the scattered ghostly trees ahead. She supposed some sampling was necessary for the search for decent lighting.

Any hopes of seeking for the perfect perch were abruptly cast aside. Ahead in the near distance, a reverberation tore through the wind before stabbing into aging tree bark. In the dim shadows, barks and snarls interspersed followed by the shouts of a man. Feet clambered, hollers and yelps intersected into a manic kerfuffle. Then, the earth ripped. Crumbing dirt and snapping roots exploded into Amelia's ears. A shakable tumble wasn't far behind ending with a strident thud and an ear-piercing animalistic shriek.

Amelia's pupils dilated. She was consumed with the urge to charge into action, but her mare had other ideas. Staggering feet stumbled and kicked as eyes darted and nostrils flared. The cry carried a hauntingly familiar echo which prompted the horse to whip her front legs into the air.

Amelia struggled to command the reins as the mare's hooves slammed back into the dirt. "Easy, girl," she tried to soothe with a gentle stroke to the animal's neck.

The touch was rendered useless as another howl claimed all inhibitors' ears. Spooked, Amelia's head jerked to the side, listening to a tirade of commands. Out from her left, came a circus of vicious Harrier hounds and their master (with bow and arrow) in pursuit of a defenseless warren of rabbits. Amelia stood by as they rushed along the rugged terrain until their presence and blaring orchestra dissolved into the depths of the woods.

Her mind traveled back to the dire matter at hand. Now for certain, she knew the distinguishable cry did not belong to the hunter or his pack of baying dogs. There was something, not too far away, that was the victim of the calamitous incident.

Amelia tapped the side of her horse and pointed forward. "C'mon!" she encouraged. "As allies of justice, we need to see if anyone is hurt!"

Determined to bring aid, Amelia ordered her mare to travel on, stepping between winding trees. As she hustled further into the mossy passageway, the cries returned growing louder and more desperate. Once she was graced with a clearing, Amelia leaped from her horse and hustled. Leaves crunched under the weight of her boots as she scrambled forward, pumping her arms fiercely in the air. Drawing close she slowed down to catch her breath before poking her head around a weathered tree.

There, Amelia found the source. Before she laid a heavily panting draft horse, whose young masculine master was crouched beside it. From above the injured animal, Amelia observed where the damp earth gave way, creating a small edge cliff.

"Easy, easy boy… It's all right," she heard the man whisper.

Amelia rounded the tree and step out into the light. She swallowed as she took another step closer. "Um, excuse me?" she started softly.

The man nearly jumped out of his skin at the intrusion. As he turned on his knees, his eyes met Amelia's and brought a hand to his chest, calming the furious pounding.

"I'm sorry," she said, presenting an apologetic hand. "I didn't mean to startle you."

A subtle nod was given, eyes barely meeting as he stood to dust himself off. As he fully rose, Amelia was transported. Large cobalt eyes blinked in wonderment. The man was a paragon of preferred height, statuesque with a sculpted chin, clean-shaven, and strong broad shoulders narrowing at his waist. His hair was dark as the dimly lit earth, sharp and sophisticated with a precise wavy pompadour. His eyes held layers of natural tones creeping in like veins of a turning leaf. Upon his creamy complexion, were rarefied military-like clothes in the accompaniment of a red cape and expensive pair of riding boots.

Why, she could have mistaken him for a prince! And not just _any_ prince (because Amelia had met so many before and was often left unimpressed), but one directly written from her guilty-pleasure novels! Of course, she could not confirm he was a prince nor would be taken in by looks alone. But the semblance of a swashbuckling sparring gent was uncanny. Of all the authors she read, Amelia figured they must have mirrored the characters on paper to someone of his physical likeness!

"It's uh- fine," the young man assured, adjusting his throat. His hand was raised and pressed to the right side of his forehead with strands of hair pushed back.

Amelia beckoned for her dazed mind to return to sensibility. She fixed him with a calm yet concerned gaze. "I was out for a ride when I heard your horse crying out," she explained. "What happened?"

"He was startled by a hunter's pack of dogs," he answered, gesturing towards his fallen comrade. "And now we seem to have um- taken a detour," he determined, observing his less than familiar surroundings.

Amelia nodded. "I see." She focused on the startled creature sprawled out and her heartstrings tugged for intervention. "Poor thing. Let me help you-"

"That's really not necessary-" he declined as she came forward.

"No, please," Amelia insisted, gesturing towards herself. "I'm a magic-user. I can heal his leg with a recovery spell in no time. It's no trouble at all."

Within a short pause, he breathed deeply and gave a curt nod permitting her to come forward. Standing beside the man, Amelia dropped to her knees and hovered her hand over the injured tendon of the horse's front right knee. A recovery spell was activated, creating a bright cluster of white.

"Shush, I know it hurts," she soothed with a motherly tone. "But I'm gonna make it better, okay?"

With every tender stroke against its groomed mane, the horse's breathing steadily relaxed. As each minute passed, the pain lightened and soon, the horse abided by the princess's words. The dramatic huffs dissipated, and the healing progression accelerated and consummated. The correction of torn tissue reattaching to bone was complete. Amelia sat back on her knees and smiled at her success.

The ability to bend and stretch encouraged the horse to rise. With patience, he wobbled and straightened himself upwards, back on all fours. Amelia gave the massive animal space as she rose to her feet, watching him take prideful steady gallops.

"Does that feel better?" she asked, her grin widening as she witnessed the sparkle of determination light up in the stallion's dark eyes.

A satisfied neigh was returned, and Amelia gave a small laugh. She ran her fingers over the fine hairs of his side and traced the gray speckles of starlight dancing across his tinted white coat. The man too smiled in relief but soon made a sharp wince. He plastered his hand back against the tender mystery beneath.

Between his fingers, Amelia witnessed seeping rose-colored liquid. "You're bleeding," she announced, pointing at the injury.

The young man removed his hand from his forehead and examined the accumulation of coagulated blood on his palm. "Oh, this?" he acknowledged, with a casual inflection. "It's just a scratch."

Amelia shook her head. "Here, let me."

Before he could rebuff, she came to his aid, brushing back short strands of hair. There, she revealed the intensity of the wound. What he suffered from was more than a bonk on the head. The skin was severely scraped just below the hairline. Layers were torn as dark blood pooled in place of flesh. Luckily, it was fixable. The lighting intensified from her palm, its brightness momentarily blinding him. As she focused, Amelia watched as the skin repaired itself, growing and rejoining without a single scar left behind.

Their closeness erupted a moment of déjà vu within the princess. Immediately, she felt something strange yet familiar translate between their eyes. As if she had known him from somewhere before, far back in the recesses of her memory. But nothing could be conjured in the saved history of her past.

She assumed this occurrence of déjà vu was easily confused with her reading from the previous night. Here she was, tending to the wounds of what appeared to be a man of physical caliber. Perhaps it wasn't the same as healing a muscular arm from a mighty battle, but an injured forehead from a pesky tree branch would suffice. Not that she was hoping for a man to heal! After all, doing an act of good was all she could ask for.

"There," Amelia finished, allowing the light to go out. She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. "How does it feel?"

The young man opened his eyes and ran his fingers over the formal injury. He marveled at his skin's soft smooth touch. "Like new. Thank you." He glanced at his companion; who's curiosity propelled him to study the unattended mare.

"We're lucky you found us when you did," he remarked. "Unfortunately, I wouldn't have been much use to Valentine. My capabilities lack in the arts of white magic."

"Glad to be of assistance, then," Amelia beamed. "I like your horse's name by the way. Valentine… It's very heroic."

"Thank you. And yours?"

He wanted to know _her_ name? Amelia blinked in shock. She then realized what he met and felt stupid. "Her name's Owena," she answered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It means warrior, doesn't it?"

Amelia perked in surprise. "Yes. Most people don't know that."

"I read in my spare time," he replied. "When I can."

The princess nodded in return. "I know what you mean," she related, staring up into the intricate branches of the trees. "Sometimes I stay up late just so I can have some time to myself."

"Sounds like we both have our time monopolized," he surmised.

"Yes." Slowly, Amelia's lips dipped, and her chin fell to her chest. She then peered over her shoulder and braced a smile to the man. "But I enjoy what I do," she declared honestly. "I know in the end I am making a difference for others. And that's what counts."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same," he revealed with despondent eyes. A deep exhale departed from his nostrils. His eyes gravitated to his boots. "It often feels like my efforts benefit my father rather than the people who need my help the most. It's all very— complicated." He shook his head. "I'm sorry; I have no intention of burdening you."

Amelia caught a flash of disappointment in his troubled eyes. She released a reassuring smile. "Oh no, it's all right. I don't mind listening. I don't know your circumstances but… maybe if you stay persistent things will change in time," she uplifted.

No. She did not know his circumstances. But somehow, her voice and words made any shred of trouble dissolve into nothing. He brushed off the strange feeling and instead, reached into the inside pocket of his cap and pulled out a small closed bag.

"Here," he offered with his extended hand. "For your troubles."

Amelia did not need to peek to know what was inside. She had no financial troubles, nor did she require payment for her services. For any authentic hero of justice, acts of kindness needed to carry depth; money would only make them shallow.

Amelia raised her hands and waved them adamantly. "Oh no, that's not necessary. Really—"

"I insist," he gestured again. "I'm sure you need it more than I do."

Well, that was disputable. She debated arguing his motive of generosity but decided not to. She did not want the money but saw any persistence would be rendered useless to his eagerness to give. So, she devised a fair agreement.

"Wait here," she ordered.

The princess turned on her heels and hurried over to Owena. The man lowered his eyebrows in puzzlement, but stayed put, nonetheless. Strapped to her horse's saddle, Amelia reached for her satchel and fished through it. Once she found what she was looking for, she cinched the bag shut and returned with a curled palm, opening it up before the man.

"If we're exchanging, then I want you to have this," Amelia extended kindly, revealing the contents through the see-through sachet bag. "These are medicinal herbs. In case, Valentine or you need them on your journey. _I _insist."

There was a flicker of hesitation within his eyes, but he succumbed to her wish at her light playful insistence. "Thank you," he said.

His fingertips brushed against her open palm and as if the sensation brought an unexpected reaction, he quickly snatched the sachet and drew back. Amelia produced a quizzical stare, tilting her head to the side with an arched brow. Between blinks she observed the shiftiness in his eyes as his hand curled into a fist, holding the sachet tight to his toned chest.

"I uh, best be off," he stated abruptly with an awkward adjustment of his throat.

Amelia followed his hastened movements as he strayed away. He kept his back to her and tremulously rubbed the back of his neck. She was uncertain what she had done to make what appeared to be a serious force turn meek by a mere innocent stroke.

A panicked swelling of unwarranted culpability grew. "You're not from these parts, are you?" Amelia suddenly deduced.

He pivoted and gazed at the friendly but fragile smile inching from the corner of her lips. She could feel his eyes study her. Finally, he huffed to himself, shook his head as if to wash off any new feeling, and released a minute, but still noticeable debonair smile. "Is it that obvious?" he chortled.

Amelia's face brightened in relief as he retrieved his horse.

"I was here on business," he indulged vaguely, grabbing the reins. "But now I'm going home..." He was about to mount his horse when he paused. A hand remained grappling the saddle as he turned back to the princess. "This may sound strange, but— have we met before? You seem so familiar to me."

"No." Amelia shook her head, still smiling. "I would have remembered."

He nodded back slowly. He found himself hesitating to make off, analyzing the deep pools of cobalt irises that ached for his mind to think and remember. Alas, he came up with nothing.

"Well, thank you again for your help," he, at last, said, now atop his horse.

Amelia grinned as his horse turned to leave. "Travel safely!"

She bided him one final farewell with a wave of her hand, watching the duo canter off into the maze of trees. The smaller they became did the sound Valentine's pounding hooves fade away, eventually blending with the coos, creaks, and howls of the woods themselves. By distance's doing, the young man and his gallant horse were all now but a memory to Amelia. She exhaled at the thought and her waving hand ceased and fell to her side.

* * *

The Sutton pasture was an expansive piece of land to explore and because of that Lina and the others decided to divide and conquer.

There wasn't much out of the ordinary. Only cows, a determined barking dog who ran about like a windup toy, and divots and holes to blunder their feet while investigating. When they came to the same conclusion as Ihon Sutton, the trio left the farm for the carriage awaiting them. After nearly twisting her ankle from a pesky hole, cursing under her breath about it, and then going back_ down_ the hill, Lina and her feet were thankful for Phil's earlier insistence that the journey required the need for a carriage.

"So, what do you guys think? Do you think Ralteague did it?" Gourry started to ask, parked next to Lina across from Phil in the rolling carriage.

"It has to be them," Lina concluded. After thoroughly rubbing her sore ankle, the sorceress leaned her elbow on the side of the carriage door while her hand rested against her cheek. She stared out the window, watching the scenery as they rode by. "Or at least, we can say this specific farm was targeted," she clarified. "On our way here, we passed at least three other farms. This one is the largest of them all and it's also the same family that runs the ice cream business in the capital. I wouldn't exactly call that a sheer coincidence if you get my drift."

Phil nodded. "Agreed. And there's no evidence to suggest that they were attacked by a wild animal either."

Lina returned his confirming nod. There was no other party that had the motive to randomly pilfer dairy cows from a rivaling farm. So, if that was the case…

"You don't think they would have wandered off?" Gourry considered.

Lina peeled away from the window and listened to her traveling companion. "They couldn't have," she argued, shaking her head. "There was no damage to the paddock and their dog set off no alarms that something was remiss. Which was just odd, because she would _not_ stop barking at us while we were there." Rightfully annoyed, she _still _couldn't get a reprieve from those repetitive yaps as they now took residence in her ringing ears.

Gourry stroked his chin. "Then that leaves who… The prince?" he more so stated than asked. "I mean, he seems to be the most likely suspect."

"We went over that," she reminded with a wave of her hand. "If Ihon Sutton has his timeframe correct, then the prince would have been with Phil when the cows went missing. Unless…" She arched a suspicious red brow. "Unless he brought a little help with him on his 'out of the blue' visit."

"As likely as it could be, that's only speculation," Phil chimed in carefully. "And that still doesn't explain why Mister Sutton's dog wasn't upset at the time the cows disappeared. She was barking at us when we came over so naturally, you'd think she'd do the same if a stranger approached the herd." He sighed and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Honestly, I can't think of any other explanation…

"Without further evidence, there's not much I can do," he announced, folding his arms across his wide chest. "I simply can't start pointing fingers at Ralteague without any proof. If they took the cows, they're long gone by now. And even if I sent someone to investigate in Ralteague, we have no idea where they could be hiding them."

The cast of frustration all but vanished at the flash of righteousness glistening in Phil's eyes. He thrusted one mighty fist into the air, the other thumping against his heart with the utmost zealous sincerity a true pacifist could muster. "But in the meantime, I will see what I can get out of Prince Derek when he returns with his father's revised proposal. Believe me when I say that the guilty party will be held accountable and that justice will prevail! No one shall get away with stealing from anyone!"

"Oh, I believe you," Lina remarked, more than familiar with Phil's well-meaning but often flamboyant gusto.

"But uh, Phil, didn't you have us _steal_ ice cream from Ralteague?" Gourry contradicted. It apparently bothered him enough to make the thought relevant to others.

"Huh?" The crown prince blinked, snapping out of his deluge. His furry eyebrows drooped. "I didn't ask you three to _steal_. I just wanted you to buy some ice cream to compare, that's all."

"And we _did_, Gourry," Lina joined in, poking him in the arm with her elbow. "We just uh," she paused, scratching her chin while scrambling for justifiable words. Finally, the came. "We just took more than our intended share. But hey, that was about finding out if they stole Seyruun's secret recipe in the first place! If anything, it was only karma coming back to haunt them."

"Then wouldn't this be karma for us too?" Gourry reasoned, twisting his mouth to the side.

Lina's shoulders and back slumped as her lips turned down. "Don't make my head hurt any more than it already is."

The swordsman's observation was not completely out of the question. But Lina did not believe her greediness of the sweet cream was a warranted reason as the motive behind the theft of cattle. Surely, this was Ralteague's doing. As to whether it was the actions of a rivaling business or the Ralteague government themselves that was up for debate. Still, she felt her gifted deceptive nature was hindered by something on the tip of her tongue yet distant from her working mind.

"I'm not really sure if I understand what the big deal is," Gourry abruptly disclosed.

Lina perked at her companion's sudden declaration, tearing away from her perch. Her forehead scrunched and she squinted her eyes. "What are you talking about, Gourry? We've only been discussing this _all _afternoon."

"I know what going's on, Lina," he answered coolly. It was his turn to recollect out the window. "I just wonder… is this whole ice cream business worth all this trouble? I mean, I get Ralteague is trying to copy Seyruun's because its world-renowned. And they're probably competing for profit or to be known for something other than their head-chopping thing."

"Go on," Lina encouraged slowly, ignoring the bit about the 'head-chopping thing'.

"But is it really necessary to stir up all this drama?" he finally got to the point. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, if they wanted to sabotage Seyruun, wouldn't they be doing something—"

"A lot worse?" she finished.

He met her eyes. "Yeah."

Amazed, Lina sat back and folded her arms over her chest. "How very observant of you, Gourry," she praised with raised eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

"I don't think it's that impressive, Lina," he replied with a small sheepish smile. "I've thought about this the whole time."

"'Course you have," she mumbled.

Lina fell silent after that, steeping in her inner thoughts. In rare instances, Gourry noted eye-opening evidence or at least, brought up an overlooked detail in which benefitted their goal and/or journey. Often arbitrarily dispersed, his words were helpful and, in this case, brought to light the nagging question that quietly whispered in the back of her mind. From what the sorceress understood, Ralteague wasn't under any economic stress. They were a profitable country. Perhaps too profitable for those who owned crystal chandeliers, fur rugs, and multifarious stretches of land. And then there was what Phil mentioned earlier in the day…

According to Prince Derek, their beef production was at its full swing. And if that was true, then they needed additional land through a law-abiding written agreement. Or as Phil believed, for expansion of their already growing hard ice cream business. So, what were they trying to do? Hold cows hostage in exchange for more land? Lina stifled a laugh at how ridiculous that scenario would be. No, it had to be something else… Was it feasible they had gone beyond mirroring Seyruun's product and decided to swipe the literal physical manufacturer for its unsurpassable dairy delight? But why take only three? And that still didn't explain how they managed to do it without getting caught.

Or was there still something else, something they weren't privy too?

Coming back to her surroundings, Lina felt Gourry and Phil's eyes scrutinize her expression intensively. Finally, she clued them in.

"I think Gourry might be onto something," she started slowly. "I think it's plausible that Ralteague could be stealing Seyruun's dairy cows for themselves. But I don't think that's the entire picture." She paused and drummed her fingers on the cushion beneath her. "I mean no offense when I say this Phil, but— what if this ice cream ordeal is all just a beneficial distraction? What if they're misleading us in some way?"

"Because of the land agreement?" Phil caught on.

Lina simply nodded.

He pursed his lips in thought. "I wouldn't rule it out. But why on earth do it this way?"

Her thoughts swarmed for an answer. Whatever Lina tried to surmise, her sense of logic did not hold back and poked holes into her flying theories. Eventually, she gave her mind a rest and sighed. "I'm not entirely sure yet."

Amber eyes dashed to the distancing woods beyond. _But I have a hunch…_

* * *

**A/N Count.:**

Ah, the plot thickens! And for all parties involved! There's so much more to come now with the plot picking up its pace... without sharing too many spoilers, chapter five will, at last, have some Amelia and Zelgadis exchanges, as well as a deeper glimpse into our newly introduced mystery prince... or, have we already met him before? ;) LOL

I also wanted to mention that I tried to include a breed of dog (Harrier hounds) that was present during the medieval era to give it a more authentically middle-age feel. _Slayers_ surely take liberties from various time periods and is both a conglomerate of European/Asian mythos. Not to mention, fantasy elements of course! Noting such, I try to balance and incorporate all sorts of possibilities/ideas from all perspectives in the hopes of enriching and exploring this adventurous medieval-esque world. :)

And with that, thank you all for taking the time to read! I hope you enjoyed it and hope I can stick to my writing schedule! lol

Until next time!


	5. Divided

**Author's Note:** So to my own surprise, here is chapter five! I am happy to say I completed its edition faster than I anticipated. I hope you all enjoy this installment. The plot is moving forward for all our players!

A big thanks to MrsTolan for another wonderful review! Thank you for always sharing your feedback and thoughts. I appreciate them. Haha, I am honored to be your 'fanfiction angel'. :) And I am happy to hear you are back home safely. Continue to rest!

**Disclaimer: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 5

**Divided**

The opportunity was a feast in his hands.

The hallway was silent. Everyone retired for the evening. Accompanied by Phil, Lina and Gourry were under arrest by the urgency of the letters. And as far as Zelgadis knew, Vonzelle went to her rooms. Or anywhere else a lady of her age and status would go in the early hours of the moon's domain. Which guaranteed Amelia's time was not occupied and that he could ask for her aid in a private setting.

Revealing the chest's contents may have been a formidable dead-end, but it was one worth taking. He had nothing to lose. If there was nothing to benefit his quest for a cure, nothing would change. But if there _was _something inside… He couldn't rouse himself over the prospect too much. Over the years, he numbed himself to the blow of letdowns. Any internal analyzation would only bring noxious pain. He only hoped Amelia's own excitement would not ignite his sleeping yearning.

With a deep breath, Zelgadis stopped before her door. Flickering candlelight peeked its way through the door's bottom gap. She was awake. His curled hand raised inches away from the door. He hesitated.

_Here goes nothing._

He gave a solid rhythmic three-beat knock. His wait wasn't long.

"Who is it?" Amelia's light muffled voice floated behind the door.

"It's Zelgadis," he answered.

"Come in!"

He froze midway upon his entrance, still clenching the doorknob. She sat perched before her crisp white desk, busy at work. A champagne nightgown flowed over her petite figure. The sleeves fell to her wristlets adorned with ruffled trims. Her dark tresses smooth from the bristles of her brush. Her peach skin glowed and her hair shined violet shades against the deep warmth of candlelight.

"I'm so happy you came by Mister Zelgadis," Amelia beamed with a full smile.

He closed the door for privacy and came toward her. "I need to ask you something," he came out with it. He paused and observed the inky dipped quill in her grasp. "You were in the middle of something," he acknowledged.

On the desk was a long detailed written piece of parchment. By the formal tone and the language, Zelgadis surmised this was Amelia's humane slaughter proposal. For the last month, she had been working on its' revision tirelessly. But Amelia was like that. Not necessarily a perfectionist, but a soul who sought out to consider everyone and everything's needs.

And the evidence was abundant. Underneath the parchment, were what appeared to be scribbled out first drafts and— was that her handwriting? Zelgadis scrutinized the lines and curves over her shoulder. No. Amelia's swoops were elegant and legible. This was legible but carried a blunt stiff style. The work of a man. Zelgadis read half of a sentence with the words 'land' and 'negotiate' to conclude it must have been King Henry's writing. Phil mentioned Prince Derek was there as a delegate on behalf of his father's wishes. After hearing Phil's anticipations of the impending meet and greet, Zelgadis wondered how Amelia would handle negotiations with a militaristic man such as him.

Amelia blinked down at her work. She noticed her friend's intense stare at the strewn papers. "Oh, I've worked enough for tonight," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "The rest can wait until tomorrow. I'm nearly done, and Daddy told me Prince Derek probably won't be back for a couple of days or so. So, I've got time to adjust my proposal and hear his terms." She placed the quill back in its bath of ink, stretched her arms above her head, and yawned. "Now that you're here, I was hoping we could finally catch up."

"There's not much to catch up on," he countered. He wanted to get to why he had come by. The distraction of a furry tail swishing on Amelia's loveseat rendered his action.

He met slit green eyes. "Hello, Gingersnap," he acknowledged. She returned his greet with a slow blink. Her paws kneading a nestled piece of fabric between her claws. Zelgadis squinted. "Is that my sock?"

"Sorry about that," she said, biting her lip. This wasn't the first incident of theft despite Zelgadis's presence or absence. "I was going to return it to you," she ensured. "She must have missed you. As much as a cat can miss, I mean."

They both focused back onto the content feline. She paid no heed to either of them, even when Zelgadis drew closer with dubious eyes.

His lips curved down, unsurprised. "Perhaps not."

"Maybe she likes your scent?" she offered.

"Or it's something new for her to play with," he resolved.

He searched for a chair to relieve his feet, but Amelia beat him to it. She dashed past him and plopped onto her queen-sized bed. The gauze of her pale pink canopy brushed against her rosy cheeks like a bride's veil. Her petite feet swung against the coolness of the night air and she patted the empty spot next to her. He hesitated to join her. Her bright smile only grew, and his body stiffened. She patted the bed again, her child-like tenacity overshadowed his will to dismiss. He abided.

Zelgadis pushed back the canopy tresses. His fingers released the thin netting, entering the manor of her resting place. He bent his knees and sat down with careful ease as if an explosion would occur if he did not show restraint. Amelia leaned her upper body forward. Her left shoulder raised to her neck, noses inches away from touching. Zelgadis laid his hands on the bed to where only fingertips graced the fabric. He turned away, concentrated on his legs and the floor beneath. He knew she was only giving him her undivided attention. Still, the closeness left him a bundle of mingling nerves.

The silence was killing him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Amelia raise an eyebrow in wonder. Zelgadis stumbled in his thoughts. In a mental scurry, he debated when to squeeze in his little inquiry. The idea of asking for a 'favor' on her bed felt like he was overstepping his bounds.

"So, I see you were able to free yourself from your grandmother's company," he decided to go with.

"Yes," the princess sighed. She dipped her chin down. "She went to bed about an hour ago. I know it's not nice, but I'm thankful she didn't keep me too long after dinner."

"I can see why. She's certainly not the definition of congenial by any means," Zelgadis commented. If one was to open a dictionary, Vonzelle's picture would befittingly illustrate invasive, manipulative, suppressive_— _And that was just the start of the list.

"She can be a bit judgmental sometimes," Amelia admitted, biting her lip. "She's… very set in her ways." Her voice was comparable to one stepping over and through set booby traps. She sighed again. "At first, I thought she was visiting because we hadn't seen her in so long. But at breakfast, she admitted that she's only here because of the letters."

"Your father mentioned that," Zelgadis replied. His lips clamped shut before he had anything else.

_Better not mention what he had in mind to combat dear old granny… _he abated. He imagined Amelia's reaction would consist of aggravated gasps, a turned-up nose, and speeches on a women's rights.

"She hasn't mentioned how long she'll be staying," Amelia elucidated. Her face fixed with an assertive stare. "But if she's going to stay, the least she could do is treat you, Miss Lina, and Mister Gourry with respect… and Daddy."

But that waging battle was likely to persist.

Zelgadis snorted. "I doubt that very much. She had no problem hiding her plain dislike of me. It seemed she couldn't wait for you to go to that garden walk with her after you suggested for me to join you."

If Amelia's expression was anything noteworthy, it went unnoticed. Zelgadis gave himself a mental slap. Internally, he played a monologue of neurotic debate.

_Did I just say me? I didn't mean me alone. I meant Lina and Gourry too, of course. Yes. Amelia's grandmother didn't like them either. She wouldn't even shake Gourry's hand… It wasn't personal it was just— her. _

"Well, that's probably because she wants me to get engaged and doesn't want anyone in the way of who she has in mind," Amelia rectified.

"She already has someone in mind?" Zelgadis balked. He pushed back the thought that Vonzelle may have considered him a serious threat to her plans.

What was wrong with everyone? While he understood the mechanics of political arrangements, he did not care to endorse them. Amelia was no pawn to check and mate for anyone's better existence. And he could not conclude that Phil would believe so either. If anyone was a potential suitor, it was for appearances and to appease Vonzelle. However, Zelgadis very much doubted any suitor would take the revelation lightly. They would make certain Phil would be on the receiving end of their squashed pride. He could not hold out on arranging a marriage, or at least an engagement for too much longer without an upheaved mob of 'dignified' men.

Ensuring his kingdom and his daughter was in safe capable hands was something that required serious consideration. If Phil wanted to create a tenable illusion, then he'd better take the reins and make his decision fast rather than be at the mercy of Vonzelle's selection.

"Yeah," Amelia replied with slouched shoulders. "His name is Lord Esmour Bardolf. He just became the duke of Ula'ree in the Outer World."

Zelgadis ran through his memory bank. His time in the Outer World was brief. "Never heard of it," he said.

Amelia shrugged. "Me either. She was adamant about me meeting him though. She even went has far as to tell him that I wasn't engaged to anyone yet."

That was a big _yet_.

"And now Daddy has been swamped with all these letters that I'm afraid he's going to insist on someone too."

Well, she beat him to it. She already carried heavy suspicions but even so, Zelgadis wasn't about to confirm that not only her father was downstairs sifting through letters, but that he made it a late-night forum with her closest friends.

"Well, perhaps your father will choose someone for their character rather than status," Zelgadis answered carefully.

Amelia shook her head, gripping the bedspread beneath. "It won't matter. All the nobles I've met are pretty much the same. Conceited, spoiled, arrogant…"

"Then what? You don't want to get married at all?"

"Oh, I do."

"So, you're not ready then?"

"I'm ready right now." His eyes widened at her confidence. "It's just…" As her voice trailed into silence, her shoulders shrank close to her neck. How could she explain it without giving anything away? She turned to him with shimmering cobalt eyes. "I'm not going to marry someone I don't love," she resolved.

"But who's to say you won't love this Lord Bardolf or anyone else they might have in mind?" Zelgadis challenged.

"I just won't."

By such sheer yet vague adamancy, Zelgadis could see why Phil was beside himself. And he could only imagine how Vonzelle would handle what she'd call her granddaughter's 'defiance'. Without meeting Lord Bardolf or reading any of the letters, a striking flash of certitude confirmed her heart would not be swayed.

The commitment of marriage was not the catalyst to her refusal. So, was her heart already dispersed to another?

"Anyway, you wanted to ask me something?"

Zelgadis whipped his head back up and stared at the princess. There was a thought, a question surfacing in his jumbled mind. It was there but remained undeveloped.

Zelgadis closed his eyes and opened them. "Amelia, I… I need your help."

* * *

Late into the night, when the moon was at its fullest, Derek arrived home.

He handed the reins off to the stable boy and gave Valentine a solid pat on the side before venturing towards the donjon of the castle. The wind whipped up and the back of his neck became laced with goosebumps. He raised the collar of his cape for blockage. It wasn't much help.

There was little difference of the night's greeting to the castle domain. The walls in the foyer and into the dining hall, were covered in hand-laid dark granite stones. Lit dripping candles were dispersed in a single row down the long dining table. Their flames illuminating and coruscating slender shadows onto the distant wall where a fanged sable dragon head hung. With such a welcoming, he almost missed the stark white vibrancy of the Seyruun palace.

There were no occupants at the table. Only the remains of licked-clean bones and maids collecting the dirty dishes left behind. He wondered if any remnants of the day's last meal were left in the kitchen for him. In front of the extensive roaring fireplace splayed the family bloodhounds. Between paws, they gnawed and feasted on picked-over bones.

Derek didn't bother to stop for the fire's heat. Instead, his tired feet carried him up the winding staircase to the third level of the castle floors. His father's study was stationed at the end of the hall where he was to report back. He would keep his findings short and brief. Heavy eyelids and aching muscles yearned for the salvation of the covers on his own bed.

On the top of the landing, a dim cast of light beamed its way into the hall. On tiptoes, a woman ghosted out of the bedroom to his left. Derek's feet planted themselves on the final step of the staircase. Their eyes met. Her alert gaze and raised thin brows were invaded by disheveled brunette locks. Curly ringlets cascaded onto a bare shoulder and to the middle of her exposed back. He could feel the wavering intensity of passion in her eyes. His attention diverted down to her bare ankles. She released a flirtatious smile and tugged on the loose sleeve of her wrinkled dress. She advertised a deeper extension of her shoulder in hopes of provocation. He kept his gaze locked in place.

A wash of relief drenched over him by an abrupt intervention. A hand emerged behind the door and curled sensual fingers beckoned her return. It was Derek's older brother, Peyton. He poked out with equally rumpled hair and a smidge of crimson lipstick at the prickly corner of his mouth. He proceeded to give her boots and shawl with a chivalrous hand. A set of giggles ensued followed by distinct lip-smacking.

Derek permitted himself to glare at the canoodling pair. Wrinkles claimed Derek's forehead as dark eyebrows narrowed. His physical disapproval carried little effect. The wet kisses and interlocking tongues persisted until he purposefully adjusted his throat. A string of spit broke as the woman turned from her lover. Her soft fingertips teasing Peyton's open palm as a final farewell for the night.

Derek stiffened as she walked past him, moving his shoulder away from any contact. Once she exited, he came to the top floor and confronted his brother. He blew a heavy huff from his nostrils with scrutinizing hazel eyes.

"Oh, don't give me that disapproving look, brother," Peyton finally spoke. "You're hardly one to object to late-night liaisons," he joshed with an all-knowing smirk.

Derek remained unaffected. He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not the one who's married."

"I am no more guilty than any other man. Besides, Marigold doesn't know—"

"I'd reconsider that assumption, Peyton," Derek warned. He leveled his brother's cocky gaze with his own cautionary sternness. "Take a walk through the city sometime. You may find that some of your clandestine meetings produced children who bare— an _uncanny_ resemblance to you. And you know what happens when there are too many people claiming to be rightful heirs."

There was a satisfaction stirring within him. Peyton's smug grin fled by his brother's sharp bite and so transferred onto Derek's. He did not revel in scolding his brother's infidelities, when his sister-in-law and her children were at the receiving end of his inexcusable deceit. But the ability to intimidate a sibling who had done nothing but torment him all his years of childhood was, in a devious way, self-gratifying.

With satisfaction, he swiveled on his feet. His triumphant march faltered by Peyton's sudden mocking tenor.

"I take it things didn't go well with Philionel?" Derek turned back to face his brother. When he failed to retaliate, one corner of Peyton's lip turned up, shaking his head. "Figures as much," he snickered. "Pursuing a career as Captain of the Guard might be best for you. Leave the politics to the intellects, won't you?"

He had enough stamina left from the day to challenge Peyton's remark. Alas, his better judgment kept his tongue silent and his fists at his side.

The walk from Peyton's not-so-secret love nest to his father's study released therapeutic benefits in blowing off surfacing steam. At Derek's age and with his experience, there was no justification stooping to the same level as one who reeked of impropriety. Still, it was all he could do to remain calm. The savagery of frog squishing, unprovoked wrestling, closet-trapping malfeasants, and disparaging jeers complied ample action of revenge.

And Peyton was the one to inherit the throne! The order by birth facilitated such rulings. Peyton took pride in his impending fate, often lounging in his father's own throne despite earning a plentitude of condemnatory eyewitnesses. But he was blinded by opulence, rapacity, and lust to care of people's warranted opinions.

Derek liked to call those 'opinions' fears. If his father ever bore similar apprehension, he never said it aloud.

The tasks amongst the two princes were dispersed evenly. Their duties and when executed with success brought Henry glowing gratification. As of late, however, Derek couldn't help but think his workload carried a much heftier yet delicate weight. After all, did Father call upon Peyton to take charge of the land agreement? Derek's tactfulness, assertion, and dependability demonstrated him as a promising leader. Perhaps, even ruler. But he knew where his place lay.

Inside the study, the moon shone through a large glass harlequin mosaic window. The array of hues shimmered by the impeding moonlight. Upon entry, Derek spotted two lengthy shadows cast onto a gray wolf skinned rug; there was an unidentified visitor and Henry. Seated in large leather chairs their backs faced the prince. He hesitated in the dim light of the entryway, fearing his intrusion. His ears pricked at unintelligible murmurs of a nasally voice to that of his father's thundering baritone. He tried to listen closely, but nothing could be made out. All he followed was the animation of the shadows and body language of an ambiguous clove-covered hand that moved with casual ease.

He did not recognize the enigmatic guest nor the purpose behind their visitation. A closer look he needed. But when his weight shifted on an oak board, a wincing creak dispersed, in which the whispers ceased.

Jumping to his feet, a salt and pepper haired head peered over his chair. Henry spotted his youngest son hanging back in the darkness of the room. He almost looked like a child again; holding his newly acquainted slippery mucus ridden aquatic friend he captured by the garden's pond.

Henry cleared his throat and motioned with his hand for his son to come out of hiding. "Well, I think that will be all for now," he announced to the stranger, while still fixed on Derek. "We will be in touch soon."

Henry shook the stranger's hand and gestured towards the door. A mirthful smile bloomed upon the stranger's face, rising to their feet. It was a man. Derek did not recognize him from any past or present memories. Based on his attire, Derek suspected he was a priest. A roguish priest…

As surreptitious as the stranger's whispers were their movement. With staff in tow, they floated by the prince with ease yet quick in their steps to where it was as if they vanished right out the door.

Once the door clicked shut, Derek turned to his father. "Who was that?" he asked.

Henry braced his son's shoulder and led him to the unoccupied chairs. "A valuable resource. Now, tell me, how did things go with Philionel?"

He gestured for Derek to settle in while he partook in a glass of ale from the drink cart. When Henry offered one to him, he declined.

"We couldn't come to an agreement. Philionel is unwilling to budge," Derek said, seating himself.

Henry inhaled the citrus spice of the ale and swallowed. "Much to be expected."

"He tells me his daughter has her own plans for the pasture, so all negotiations were off the table. He wouldn't say any more on the matter himself and I was unable to speak with her."

Derek kept his focus on his father, waiting for any sign of a response. The silence dragged on. He wrung his hands, fixated on the back of the king's head. Was he displeased? When Henry assigned him to the task, his iron-willed personality expected a steadfast result. Derek knew why and so, with his trip abortive, he panicked his father misjudged his capable hands.

Derek came to his father's side. Henry did not budge as his son's taller shadow loomed over him. Derek's eyes begged for a glance. "I'll try again, Father," he promised. "Perhaps if we write up a new proposal that's more appealing to Seyruun's needs I, will not only be able to ensure an agreement, but I can have an audience with the princess."

Henry did not respond for several seconds. He swished the addictive liquid in its glass and staring off as if deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. "How is Philionel?"

"He seemed preoccupied," Derek informed. "The princess has many prospective suitors."

Henry pressed his lips together and his thin groomed beard was stroked by slow fingertips. "As to be expected," Henry snorted. He poured himself another glass. "I'm sure Princess Amelia has become quite the commodity as of late. He'll need luck marrying her off. She's branded herself as somewhat of a contemporary."

"Sounded like he was looking for luck," the prince verified. He shook his head and meandered to the blazing fireplace. He released a smile of unbelievability, resting his toned arm on the mantelpiece. "He was crazy enough to inquire if I was interested. I turned him down of course. The thought of—What is it, Father?"

Henry slammed his glass onto the drink cart. He twirled and flashed baring teeth, dilated forest green pupils, and a throbbing veined thick neck. "Why in the Gods' names would you turn down Philionel's offer to court his daughter? Where is your head, Derek?!" he bellowed.

Derek straightened his posture and held his ground. His eyebrows furrowed and he crinkled his nose. "Because I don't _want_ to," the prince emphasized.

The king released a disgruntled sigh and turned his back to him. Derek bristled and threw his hands up in air. "I have my duties to think about," he defended as his voice raised an octave. "I hardly know her for that matter and you just said yourself she'd be a hard one to sell. Besides, we aren't exactly on good terms with Seyruun. Yours and Crown Prince Philionel's views they're too... divided."

"And that's the problem." The king's voice quieted.

Derek tensed as his father grabbed his drink once more and joined him by the fireplace. "Derek, my son, can't you see what a golden opportunity this would be for our nation?" he fantasized, as if the unoccupied space before them was their fertile playground. "An alliance by marriage would be to our benefit. Despite Philionel's beliefs, Seyruun is a powerful nation and _you _would be _our _gateway into every power they hold. Imagine! With you as the next king of Seyruun and your brother, who would rule after my passing, our two kingdoms could become one superior country! Think of all the possibilities for Ralteague, Derek! And we can finally settle that ridiculous land dispute!" he boasted, slapping his thick hand against his son's sturdy shoulder.

_Or to further steal their precious recipes,_ Derek thought sardonically.

The prince's eyes followed his father's footsteps. He wandered away from him and crashed comfortably into his chair. Derek placed his hands on his hips and cocked a brow. "But who's to say Philionel would even consider me a candidate after I rejected his inquiry?" he threw back.

"Philionel easily forgives," Henry dismissed with a wave of his hand. "His pacifist nature, as soft-minded as it is, can be used to our advantage."

Invading the Seyruun royal family's riches by means of the bed-chamber wasn't what Derek called a foolproof plan. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know he ruffled a few royally perturbed feathers. Yes, Philionel may very well forgive his abrupt and brusque dismissal. But _forget_ was another story. Though the crown prince did not concede problems could be solved by violence that did not mean his peace-loving philosophy was ignorant to mendacious plotting.

A wagging finger broke Derek's inner thought. He followed the finger back to his father, who wore a nefarious smile. "Besides, it's not just Philionel you're going to have to convince. He's allowed his daughter the freedom of an objective mind. You should concern yourself with winning the princess over. And a meeting alone with her is the perfect opportunity. It would be a good excuse to brush up on courting techniques… and to utilize your good looks from me to your advantage."

The prince cringed at his father's blatant hubristic attitude. Derek abhorred the idea of cajoling. The promises those words would carry would be empty degrading acts of flattery. Of all the princesses of their era, Amelia was a rebel. Which someday would be marveled by more women of advanced time. It was logical to conclude she would not be easily persuaded.

"If she's a contemporary I don't think the average courting techniques or physical attractiveness will be of much use," Derek contradicted.

"True…" The king nodded. "I suppose you will have to appeal to her 'heart' then." He stifled a laugh. "What is important is for you to sire the next future king of Seyruun."

The pink hues in the prince's cheeks flourished. "I think you're getting ahead of yourself, Father. I would prefer to know the princess before discussing the idea of consummating heirs."

"Preferring to know is unnecessary in arranged marriages," Henry argued. "The match would be a political feat."

"But I have no interest in marrying Philionel's daughter," Derek asserted. His adamancy was as intransigent his body.

"And you're basing this off your meeting when you were what— ten, eleven? Do you even _remember _the girl?" the king challenged his voice trenchant against his son's recalcitrant stance.

Derek pooled over the fading memories of his mind. The imagery was fuzzy with only distinct characteristics lasting over the years. A little girl with big blue eyes, no more than five, was all he could recall. His excuses were as sheer as a cobweb.

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

"Then you shall get to know her now, won't you?"

"But Father—"

"I recognize your hesitation, Derek," Henry cut to the chase. He motioned for Derek to fall silent, which he abided by. "I have given you the time that you so desired. But enough time has passed. You will make certain that you will get engaged— _again_."

The prominence of the word 'again' stung him like a bee's needle to skin. His pulse raised, splaying his fingers over closed eyelids. "What about my other obligations?" he tried once more. "I have my training to consider—"

"You do not need to worry yourself with any more training— Captain."

Derek's hand fell to his side. His eyes popped open, wide with bewilderment. "Wait— _What_?"

Mouth agape, Derek stood bemused. He looked to his father for an explanation. The king ignored his son and ventured across the room to his desk. In the center top drawer, he unearthed a thick tarnished ring, containing several bronze skeleton keys. He fished through them, selecting one in the middle of the collection. The designated key unlatched an oak cabinet. Henry hooked his fingers around the hinges and paused.

"Your mother wanted me to wait until tomorrow so she could organize a celebration, but I suppose you might as well know now," he explained, the suspense building. "Captain Fairmond retired as of yesterday. You, Derek, are now Ralteague's Captain of the Guard."

Inside the cabinet was the ultimate prize. Secured upright, stood an untouched steel sword. The metal illuminated against the mosaic lights dancing into the room. An engraving of the royal family's crest swirled in smooth edges across the golden handle. Derek's eyes protruded. Words failed to form from his dry throat. His father removed the sword from its position and with pride placed it in his open palms. Derek fingers glided over the slick steel like skates upon a sustainable layer of ice. The reflection mirrored the eyes of a warrior. It was beautiful.

The title meant everything. The head of the castle's military force, the protector of the capital and of his own family. He would recruit soldiers, train, and eventually, command an army in combat. It was all Derek ever wanted. He basked in the glory of his imminent duties. But his mind was shrouded with a hurricane of worries. His age was a conflict. Several of the soldiers were older than him. They were men who had followed Fairmond's orders and fought by his side without dithering. Would they do the same for him so soon after the man's departure? Or would they see him as a callow soldier recruited only by nepotism?

Derek's eyebrows drooped. He lowered his arms, distancing himself from his reflection. "Father, _please_ tell me you didn't make Fairmond retire by force. I wanted to _earn_ the title—"

"And you _have_, Derek," he assured. "Number one in your regiment, extensive combat training, and knowledge in black magic... You're more than ready for the responsibility."

Henry's rarely dispensed praise brought a twinge of affirmation to Derek's insecurities. "I— I don't know what to say," the prince sputtered. A beatific smile blossomed, as his attention struggled between his father to his prized possession. "This is an honor— I mean— It's— I won't let you down."

He demonstrated his gratefulness with a bow of his head. Henry nodded in return at his son's deference and retrieved the sword's sheath. When he gave the sheath to Derek, Henry rounded back to his seat. He leaned his cheek into his tightened fist and the edge of his lip turned up. Derek's exuberance shined as his quick hands attached the weapon to his belt.

"And you shall not with Princess Amelia either," the king reminded.

Derek froze, midway through his knotted loop. "Wait—"

"From what I hear she's a powerful sorceress. Perhaps you can 'dazzle' her with your own _impressive _military lineage," Henry suggested, fondling his bearded chin in the ecstasy of his stroked ego.

A deep crease sat on the prince's forehead. He tugged and tightened the knot to his belt. He did not want to demonstrate ungratefulness. The bestowment was a clear enough warning in of itself. The determination running through his blood, however, was difficult to silence. As captain, he might as well start to stand his ground. Even if it was a challenge to the king.

"Father," Derek began, maintaining eye contact. "I mean no disrespect, but I can't court Princess Amelia. I won't go through it again—"

"I will not permit insubordination! _Especially_ from my son," Henry warned, crashing a clenched fist into the armrest of his chair.

His demeanor shifted, riled by the indefatigable assertions. His thunderous command misfired in the attempt of petrified obedience. Derek's eyes dashed away, crossing his arms.

Henry leaned forward wagging an erect finger with a hiss. "_Look_ at me when I speak to you, Derek," he commanded. The reluctancy to submit slowly receded. Derek still held his chin high and met his father's intimidating hold.

"This time it _will_ be different. You _will _court Philionel's daughter and you _will _make her your wife. Am I understood?"

Derek's furrowing deepened. The silence stretched at a deadly rate, long enough for another eruption to overflow. He witnessed in the intensity flare in his father's eyes.

Derek breathed deeply out his nostrils.

"Yes, sir," he replied quietly.

"Now, for the last time, I assure you; you have _nothing_ to worry about. I'm sure Philionel's daughter isn't so... licentious."

There was no comfort in his words. Derek held back a snort. _No, _he thought with a sarcastic bite. _From what I've heard she's just a zany nonconformist with pacifist ideology! A spitting image of her father. Good God... If there is a legitimate comparison let's hope, it's not in looks!_

"The matter is settled," Henry concluded. "You shall write to Prince Philionel this instant. I will inform the messenger to send the letter off tonight. Now, off you go, _Captain_."

Immediately, Derek was ushered out of the study and pressed to start writing.

The prince retired to his rooms, striking a match against stone for ample lighting. His fluttering eyelids wailed for sleep as the parchment rested under his weight, but he persevered. Every so often Derek's quill stopped in midair, and his mind wandered back to those not so long-ago hours.

He wasn't interested in courting any princesses. Or any noble ladies for that matter. He thought he had made that more than obvious. For such a long time, he felt numb to beautiful women presented to him. And now here she was. The young lady in the forest. She had this— natural glow about her. She was pretty and feminine, yet self-reliant. She was… pleasant to talk to. Down to earth. _Nice_.

_If only I had asked her name_, he cursed in frustration.

Personal experiences concluded there weren't any princesses like that. Princesses were supposed to move elegantly, appear undeniably beautiful but empty-headed when looking out for their own wellbeing. No. The young lady in the woods wasn't a princess. If fate weaved a future to his liking, perhaps, he would run into the girl once more. That she was somewhere in the bustling capital of Seyruun… From his own deduction, she was a healer who worked at the apothecary or medical division for the Seyruun royal family. Or even a priestess from the temple. In any case, he dreamt he would fine her.

Still, he supposed, if he must court Prince Philionel's daughter, she couldn't be any worse… Cherry red lips, eerie humming, inky eyes, and restless hands searching, hungering to stroke and stir something deep within himself—

The prince shuddered.

Derek signed his full name. He read it back to himself. The letter was short but concise to elucidate his interest. He then firmly pressed a hot wax stamp to the back of the envelope. He watched the red wax melt and solidify.

Bloody droplets descended. His eyes narrowed.

He snatched the enveloped off the desk and went to the messenger.

* * *

She couldn't conceive what was happening!

As Zelgadis explained the chest's excavation and now his dilemma with it, ebullience festered and bubbled over inside the attentive listening princess. Amelia's heart fluttered when he, finally, asked for her assistance. Now her fliting eyelids were wide and on alert. There was no time to sleep!

She bounced up onto her knees. His hands cradled into hers and nearing her beating heart. "Oh, Mister Zelgadis, you don't need to ask! You know I'd do anything to help you!"

A grin pulled from her lips as she witnessed a faint tint of pink envelope his cheeks. She hadn't been this giddy in days nor could she have been happier for him! The chest fitted all the requirements a potential lead could bare; concealed— check! mysterious— check! abandoned— check! And to boot, it was magically sealed! Of course, there was the probable chance the chest's contents would be in vain. Even so, Amelia's optimistic outlook rebuffed any pragmatic conclusions. She was, after all, only thinking of Zelgadis's ultimate wish.

Without delay, Amelia snatched his hand and raced out of her bedroom door. Zelgadis stumbled under his feet. He grumbled in annoyance as she led him to his own rooms.

"We can wait until morning to unlock it, Amelia," he reminded tersely. He knew she'd react with enthusiasm, but he didn't expect her to charge right into action this late at night.

Amelia, pent up with eagerness, flashed determined eyes. "Why wait?" she asked, pumping her arms in the air. "Now's the perfect time to get to work! With it being nighttime we're less likely to have interruptions. Besides, haven't you ever heard the saying, there's no time like the present?"

"I suppose," he said.

Without stirring any commotion, the pair made their way into Zelgadis's rooms. Standing aside, Amelia hugged her arms around herself. She assumed the chill of the fall air must have infiltrated the sheerness of her nightgown. After all, she was now covered in goosebumps. But she wasn't cold before entering his domain.

Amelia took in her friend's personal space. If she walked into the bedroom without knowing where she was, Amelia would have identified it was Zelgadis's without hesitation. Nothing was out of a place. For one, he meticulously made his bed. Not a single crease or rumble rested on the top comforter. The top stitching was stationed to the head of the bed, covered by a single pillow and its white sham as if it provided an extra ounce of privacy. Amelia was certain that if she flipped back the comforter and top sheet, the mattress cover was pulled and tugged beyond its capacity.

Books dominated every available shelf. They were faced to show their bindings and titles. Strategically stationed by genre, subject, and type. On the far wall to the left, was a small collection of framed pieces. All were replicas of famous works of art, while one, stood out to Amelia. He must have newly acquired this piece. Behind a glass sealed frame were thin pins tacked into preserving specimens of butterflies. Amelia's feet carried her over to the collection. Her finger rose, slowly touching the center of the glass where the largest, most magnificent black and golden butterfly roosted. She admired the others. Each wing varied in length, color, and size. The scientific name posted directly under the matching safeguarded skeleton. She took in a breath of awe.

Her attention shifted and fell to the bay window. Amelia smiled to herself. He was truly making this room his home. Scattered rundown charcoals sat upon his table. An easel held a half-finished watercolor of the water garden outside. There was, as to be expected, his guitar and sword perched by his nightstand. His possessions were minimal, but still, the most valued of all.

Amelia pressed a finger to her full lips. There was just one thing though. The room was in desperate need of color. She would have to rearrange her schedule, but Amelia would find the time to implement a shade other than sky gray or muted blue…. With his consent of course.

"So, where's the chest?" Amelia finally asked.

Zelgadis lit an oil lamp and blew out the match. He pointed to the floor. "Under here."

He sank his knees into the tapestry rug beneath his bed. Amelia returned to his side, resting her hands on her knees. Her upper body bent forward, closely observing Zelgadis unveil the wizened trunk from under the bed skirt.

Amelia's doe eyes protruded. "I can't believe someone would leave behind something this big," she marveled. "I wonder how it got there… Where did you say you found this again?"

"On an abandoned road— well, it's more like a path now," Zelgadis corrected. "By the grave markers we found, Lina believes it was where the Payne family died."

"_The_ Payne family?" Amelia gaped.

Zelgadis peered at the princess with an arched rocky brow. "You've heard of them?"

She nodded. "From castle gossip. I heard that Sir Gilliame Payne had close ties with the Ralteague royal family."

"What kind of ties?"

"I don't know. But we could always ask Daddy."

Zelgadis turned back to the trunk. "It was buried so whatever happened to them, it had been left for some time… Do you happen to know why they were going to Ralteague from Seyruun?"

Amelia pursed her lips in thought. Her age, at the time of the occurrence, impacted her memory. She was only a preteen and anything dastardly, violent, or salacious was often kept from her virgin ears.

"No," she eventually sighed. She wished she did. "All I remember being told was that there was a horrible accident. They all perished… Do you think this chest might have something to do with Ralteague?" she considered.

Zelgadis's eyes singled in on the lock. "There's only one way to find out."

Several minutes passed. Amelia wrestled to maintain her energy and concentration. The flow break was simple to cast, but difficult to prolong. Her hands visibly shook against the brilliancy of the energized ball in her control. Gritted teeth released faint winces between their minimal gaps.

"I— can see— why— this isn't— your average—lock spell!" she stuttered, the tension contorting her face.

"Give yourself a break, Amelia," Zelgadis urged.

Without delay, Amelia dropped to her knees and slumped. Her enervated hands collapsing onto the textured sewn kinks of the rug. Catching her breath, she studied his attention to detail into unraveling the lock's spell. The more he struggled with its understanding the greater his face tightened and grimaced. Amelia's heart panged at his illustrated frustration.

"Damn," he growled, throwing one solid pound of his fist against the chest. "I don't know how they manipulated the lock spell. It's possible they infused black magic but it's difficult to tell what type they implemented."

Amelia soaked in Zelgadis's words. A sharp pain soared from her left arm down to her fingertips. She blenched and held onto her wrist, gently messaging out the spasms. In an effort, to tame the discomfort, she stretched and relieved the tense muscles of her digits. As her fingers retracted and expanded her eyes brightened.

_Maybe that would work… _

Zelgadis, preoccupied with his methodical planning, continued to mumble to himself. "I suppose I'll have to test—" He stopped mid-sentence, caught off guard by the rise in Amelia's shadow. He gazed up at her. "What are you doing?"

She rolled her ruffled sleeves up to her elbows. "I have an idea."

Zelgadis squinted and frowned. He came to his feet, folding his arms across his chest as they switched places.

She raised her arms in a fighting stance. A curled fist settled near her right cheek. A blinding shade of white pulsated and swelled creating an orb that imprisoned her fist. Zelgadis's eyebrows rose. He held out a panicked pleading hand.

"Amelia, wait!"

Too late. She took one swing. Low and quick. Her blazing white fist like a meteor crashing into the earth's crust.

"Visfarank!"

The shamanistic magic-infused fist dealt with direct damage. The weather-beaten chest shattered. Splintered pieces of wood blew across the room. Zelgadis ducked. His raised arms protected his sight from the blow and the blazing white light. The wooden particles sprinkled adorning their clothes. Spurts of coughs erupted as dustings invaded the air. Zelgadis fanned the falling dust.

Amelia bit her nails, her eyes darting between a disgruntled chimera and the wreckage left behind. Yes, she had successfully and unconventionally unlocked the box. But as to its contents…

"Did I—?" she muttered softly.

Zelgadis hurried over to where the chest once stood and fell to his knees. Frantic powder dusted hands shoved and threw broken chips of crumbled wood. Then, his fingers were graced by a smooth hide. He gripped the sides and blew off the smothered substance claiming the surface.

Amelia's eyes widened and she leaned in. She swiped a strip of sweat from her dampened forehead. "What is it?" she asked.

Zelgadis stared intensely at his newfound possession. Rising to his feet, he brought the object to the light of the flaming oil lamp.

"It's a book."

* * *

**A/N Cont.: **The plot is on a roll! Thank you to everyone who read. :) This chapter was especially fun to write. Bringing original characters to life is always a pleasure, so it was engaging to flesh Derek and his family out further. Not to mention exploring the beginning of their scheme... Until next time!


	6. Prospects

**Author's Note:** Wow! Here is chapter six, two months later than I anticipated. Yikes! In any case, I appreciate your patience and your dedication to keep on reading. :) I hope everyone has been able to remain safe and healthy during this pandemic as well!

Another special shoutout to MrsTolan and our new guest reviewer too! Thank you both for your (continued) feedback and enthusiasm! Your words of encouragement keep me propelled to continue this story!

Let's hope the next chapter won't take nearly as long. I know, I know. I sound like a broken record. Just let me dream! lol Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 6

**Prospects**

Scribblings of ink blinded and confronted Lina's awakening vision.

A slow hand reached and peeled the written paper away from her droopy face. She surveyed the study. Phil was asleep at his desk, his head laying on a stack of papers. Dripping from the corner of his mouth, a small pool of drool stained his makeshift pillow. To her side sat Gourry, who, was slumped in his chair, his head tilted towards the ceiling and his muscular arms splayed out to the sides.

Her gaze journeyed to the standing clock, stationed in the far-left hand corner of the room. Breakfast had been served. Her gurgling stomach and vivacious appetite compelled her to rise to her feet and scramble to see what was left in the kitchen. However, the effect from the minimal hours of sleep she had were too overpowering to make a move. Slowly, she lodged her forehead back onto the tabletop.

Light broke its way through the opening of the study door. Its sharp squeak roused Lina, rubbing her eyes as her fuzzy sight identified the new presence. There stood Zelgadis; fully dressed and who appeared _well slept_, he glanced about the room. The corners of his lips drooped, and his eyes scrutinized the scattered crumpled papers slithering from the desk to the floor surrounding its now resting spectators. Solely based on his surroundings, he wouldn't call this productivity.

"What happened here?"

Lina cast a glower over her shoulder. "We pulled an all-nighter. Could have used your help too, deadbeat," she snapped in a groggy voice.

"I was busy," he stated.

Lina narrowed her gaze. "Sure, you were," she grumbled sarcastically. An extended yawn leapt from her throat. She stretched her arms above her head, slapping them back at her sides. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"To speak with Phil," he replied in an evasive tone that foretold he would not divulge as to why.

Lina focused in on his vagueness. "You'll have to wake him." She arched her eyebrows at the missing petite statured shadow that would typically linger behind him. "Where's Amelia?"

"Asleep. She informed me she didn't get much rest last night so I told her I would let Phil know that she will be sleeping in."

Which was technically true. Rebelling against the night's intended purpose, they had stayed up into the hours of darkness. Not that Zelgadis had any complaints. The hours were productive; perhaps immediate results failed to flourish, but still, exchanges of curious wonders prevailed. Flipping each page to the next, he was surprised how he lacked in disappointment. Frustrated, yes, but determined and perplexed no doubt. And, if he dared to admit it, the pleasant company kept him steadfast to the candlelight.

As the sun caressed the breast of the brightening sky, that 'pleasant company' needed her lost hours of shuteye. Zelgadis's current form did not require much sleep to begin with. But Amelia, who bore dark circles and a series of yawns needed to replenish her energy for the day ahead. It was the least he could do. Afterall, he was never the type to give verbal thanks.

Lina's expression only read of skepticism. Intensifying her focus on his poker face failed to render the truth. Zelgadis's lip line flattened and his stoic eyes withheld any secrets swimming within his cold irises. Still, her dauntless demeanor urged her to persist.

"What are you hiding?" she pressed.

"Nothing," he replied, acting with a casual and uncaring tone.

Lina didn't buy his abstinent performance. "So, Amelia's allowed in on secrets and not me?" she swiftly concluded, sitting up.

"You said it, not me."

Lina waged her odds. She could persist in this song and dance of interrogation, goad him which would most likely irritate him further, other simply come right out with the knowledge she had already acquired. Contending with Zelgadis was never a picnic... So, she chose the latter.

"I know about the chest, Zel."

Zelgadis's teeth clenched and his rocky eyebrows clamped together. Finally, he breathed out in defeat and relaxed the tightened muscles within his shoulders.

"How?" he asked in a deadpan tone.

"Gourry saw you," she confessed. "Now, c'mon spill. What did you find?"

Zelgadis cursed to himself. He should have noticed how strangely quiet the tent fell minutes into their disputation of who harbored the malodorous feet. Of course, the infamous culprit of snoring was up and about, moving stealthily in the shadows thanks to his perfected sparring reflexes. He wondered what compelled Gourry to tell Lina anyhow. He was never labeled as a loose lip gossip or a nosy neighbor. In any case, Lina would have eventually found out. Even so, he preferred to have kept finding a secret, so he may conduct his own personal research before vastly knowledgeable, but still, greedy hands took charge.

"It's a book," he professed. "But it's contents are— there might be something but there also might be nothing," he explained, knowing full well how nebulous his statement was. He sighed. "It's difficult to explain without showing you. From what Amelia and I gather, we believe it has something to do with the Payne family and Ralteague. So, we're wondering if Phil has any information about Sir Gilliame Payne's relationship with the royal family."

"You possibly discovered a book from _the_ Payne family, and you weren't even going to tell me?" she balked, slack-jawed, with bulging eyes.

At that moment, Lina could not decide whether to throttle him or to celebrate his rare and perhaps valuable discovery. Aching muscles and lacking motivation resolved that she should simply be delighted that she was now, at least, privy to the start of a new mystery.

"On the bright side, this saves me the trouble of snooping," she said with a wryly smile.

Zelgadis snorted. "Figures as much."

"Well, it's not like you would have been forthcoming with me," she defended.

"Fair enough. Still, that's no excuse to search through someone's personal belongings without their consent."

"You can lecture me all you want when you deal with someone as elusive as yourself," she replied with a waving dismissive hand. "Now that we're on the same page, what are you waiting for? Go on! Wake Phil up!"

He didn't appreciate being prodded like cattle, nonetheless, Zelgadis knew if he wanted his answer, he needed to inquire before Phil's attention was diverted elsewhere.

He rounded the desk and came to the crown prince's side. Still slumped, Phil's open flood gate not only released a stream of saliva, but a series of dramatic high to gradually falling snores. A hand stretched out, hovering above one giant brawny shoulder. Zelgadis hesitated. Last time he checked his job description never entailed having to wake his sleep-deprived boss. With one shake alone, he feared his face would accidentally suffer a blow from one of those mighty curled fists.

But before he determined whether he dared to take a whack at waking Phil, the door swung open. An invasive presence intruded with a grand entrance of a profound gust of wind. Icy blue eyes slit with a call for attention.

"Philionel!"

Like a foreseeable avalanche, an abrupt cry roared and crashed into Zelgadis's already sensitive eardrums. Soon after, Gourry shot awake. He slid from his slouched position, falling onto his back with a noticeable thud. From there, he winced, rubbing the back of his head. Simultaneously, Phil's head violently flipped up, shooting straight up in his seat. As did one of his rounded fists, landing straight onto Zelgadis's jugular.

He tumbled to the ground, back first. The blow, while not as amped up with intent, carried a similar sting to that of Amelia's pummeling. Thanks to his chimeric form, any physical discomfort went undetected to Zelgadis's thick rock-hard skin. However, when swept up in a heat of passion, a swing from Amelia managed to defy the resistance of his manipulated form. Zelgadis's once bruised jaw and missing back tooth had not forgotten the swift powerful punch executed by the exuberant princess a year and a half ago. If anything, it taught him to listen to Amelia the _first _time.

And now, it taught him to let sleeping giants lie.

Phil's alerted, wide veined eyes dilated and manically danced across the spinning room. "I'm awake, I'm awake!" he shouted, lost in a frightening stupor.

Vonzelle's lips tightened at her son-in-law. Her scowl ventured to the askew pillar of contents upon his desk to the spilled wreckage flooding the floor. "What a mess!" she exclaimed. Her attention turned to the redhead. "Miss Inverse! Make use of your yourself and tidy up the place, won't you? How can one sit and discuss with such disorder around?"

Lina arched her shoulders. A stray piece of parchment fell victim to her aggressive clutches, squeezing it to a pulp. The sorceress hissed under her breath. "Why don't_ you_ make use of yourself and—"

"I'll help," Gourry interceded. He translated a look to Lina which read as wise advice. And so, she, begrudgingly, submitted to his warning as her voice dropped into venting mumbles.

Voluminous moonlit river stained skirts mounted themselves upon what was once Gourry's chair. Puffed shoulders sat back, accentuating a ruffled lace collar with a privileged wrinkled chin high to the air. A wooden woven covered basket rested in one aged hand, eventually settling upon the desk.

As the pair collected the scattered papers, Vonzelle's eyes centered on her half-awake son-in-law.

"Now, what have you, Philionel?" she asked.

Phil did not need to ask what she meant. Here she was, punctual and expecting him to be alert and prepared. He rubbed his eyes and his forehead creased. "Mother…" He stirred, tightening closed eyelids. "What time is it?"

"Half-past eight."

"Can't this wait until the afternoon?"

"No, it cannot, Philionel," Vonzelle insisted, tapping the end of her cane against the floor. "We agreed by this morning and it is morning. Do you always renegotiate when you cannot keep your promises? Even when you secretly acquire your own personal staff for assistance?" she added with a sting, disapproving eyes gesturing to the pair busily cleaning.

Phil's eyes popped opened and he shot a mild glower. His frown extended from her chiding to the point where aging wrinkles became apparent. In irritation, a quick hand snatched the first piece of paper within his reach. The parchment laid between his large fingers. He adjusted his throat and began to read.

"I have prescribed you an ointment for the fungal infection located on— Oh, wait." He blushed. His thick neck scrunched itself into his massive shoulders. He sat the medical note down gingerly with a sheepish smile. "That's not it. How embarrassing…"

Vonzelle rolled her eyes. Her manicured fingernails tapped against the dragon head of the staff. Each tap timed with the ticking clock became a musical beating of sorts.

Still lying unacknowledged behind the desk, Zelgadis came to his senses. Splayed on his back, his focus drifted between the two syncing ticks. From the perspective of a ground dweller, he monitored Phil's frustration bloom. Unintelligible words poured from the crowned prince's mouth his thoughts lost among an overload of lavish words on pressed scented parchment.

Zelgadis's muscles tightened and constrained. His palms moistened. The rhythmic tapping and ticking reverberated in his ears like a foreboding drum. Peering under the desk, he cranked his neck and observed his friends' shuffling feet, the scattered papers, the elaborate heavy skirt of expensive fabric— How could he forget?

_The letters. Damn. _

Zelgadis blamed the book. But that was useless. Hadn't he wanted to forget the letters? He could not stomach the idea of standing by and watching it all unfold. Yet, despite these feelings, he told himself he should not care.

From the corner of his eye, Phil, at last, noticed his sprawled employee. "Is there a reason you're on the floor, Mister Zelgadis?" he inquired, beaming down at the chimera.

Zelgadis grimaced. "Not particularly, no."

"Well, do you need something?" he asked anyhow, too distracted in the search of the desired letter to question the outré state of his daughter's bodyguard.

Zelgadis sat up on his elbows and rose to his feet. He dusted himself off, and as his hands rotated to his backside, he aggressively grabbed a piece of parchment stuck to his behind. "It can wait, sir," he answered, tossing the paper aside. "I'll just come back later—"

"Not so fast, Mister Greywords," Vonzelle interceded before he moved an inch. "I have yet to become formerly acquainted with you. Perhaps you should stay; we may need an opinion outside of our family ties."

"I don't believe I would be of any help, Marchioness," he stated, closely riding on the coattails of formal politeness and blatant refusal. "I have other matters to attend to."

"Like what?"

"None of your concern."

Vonzelle held back a pious laugh. "Well, unless it's life-altering, for example, I don't know, the world coming to an apocalyptic end, I believe you can spare a precious minute or two and make yourself useful here."

Zelgadis held back a snort. _Yeah, right. Like I'm seriously going to take orders from you. _

Who did she think she was? He glared. How stupid was she to believe that he couldn't see through her? Friend of Amelia's or not, Zelgadis doubted his objective viewpoint was desirable to the marchioness. His status with Amelia was not seen as an advantage but as budding sabotage. Amelia said so herself last night. Confining him in her paddock of scrutiny was a predictable tactic. To Vonzelle, he was a book into Amelia's world, and the marchioness desired to know how much Zelgadis knew of it and more importantly, how _invested _he was in it.

_Well,_ he concluded with adamancy, _she's not going to get anything out of me._ _I don't want any part in this—_

And he intended to reiterate those very thoughts. Until Lina's outward defiance dominated the room. She rose to her feet and slammed the garnered letters upon the desk. "Well, Gourry and I don't have to stick around," she declared. "We've done our part—"

"Are you quite sure you would like to excuse yourself from partaking in the reasonably sized breakfast I brought, Miss Inverse?" Vonzelle inquired. "It would be quite a shame after all the trouble our head cook went to prepare such a feast for our little meeting."

When she removed the towel nestled on top of the basket, the corner of lips began to salivate. Lina and Gourry scurried over and leaned forward, lost in the savagery of their gluttony. There, with silverware and dishes in tow, sat layers of butter smeared pancakes, glossed with scrambled eyes, and dripping grease-riddled slabs of cottage bacon. In Lina's eyes, it was like unveiling a cascade of bright glistening gold.

The sorceress cradled her woven hands against her cheek. "Well, I guess we could use some breakfast. After all, it _is _the proper way to start any day," she added.

She exchanged glances with Gourry, who nodded and hummed eagerly in agreement. Together with clattering plates, the pair divvied up their regiment of well-deserved proportions.

"Would you mind saving me some?" Phil interjected, though his voice was droned out by chomping and slurping.

Zelgadis stifled a scoff as their servings mounted to the highest peak possible. "Well, I'm not so easily taken by primitive needs," he stated. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Ah! Here he is!" Phil's bombastic voice boomed. He smiled in relief as he held his finding in his hands and gestured for the chimera to return. "Come, come, Mister Zelgadis! There's plenty of room by me."

Zelgadis sighed inwardly. Not Phil too! Had he not made his disdain clear? He thought, as of yesterday's brief discussion, there was a silent understanding between himself and Phil. Evidently today, no one either listened or cared not to.

Even so, to simply defy Phil, however, was another challenge in of itself. He did not wish for Vonzelle to find a reason for sacking him, which in this case would be, blatant insubordination. Not that he answered to her… But now Phil was insistent, and as much as he preferred to remain ignorant to the prospects of suitors he also did not want to find himself outside the palace gates forced to seek his next place of residence with his one, but very packed, bag.

_Not that I honestly believe Phil would fire me over something so petty… He's not like that. And I certainly don't need to explain myself… And if that judgmental old bat thinks that I'll be bullied into being complaisant over a few nasty quips she's— _

"Has your hearing suddenly failed you, Mister Greywords, or do you prefer to stand absurdly still like one of those pornographic statues Philionel has adorned throughout the entire garden?"

Without difficulty, contrary to the old woman's belief, Zelgadis's intensified hearing pricked at Vonzelle's uncouth sly dig. He shot a look of daggers, which went blissfully unnoticed by Phil who found himself hung up on those 'pornographic statues'.

"Those half-naked statues have always been there—" the crown prince started.

"You will obey your employer, Mister Greywords, and _sit down_," Vonzelle ordered curtly, ignoring the prince's desperation for clarification.

Zelgadis refused to budge. Phil's attention drifted to his mother-in-law then back to the chimera. He had never seen a silent standoff so equally matched when it came to intimidating scowls and absurd stubbornness.

"It will only be a few minutes, Mister Zelgadis," Phil assured, gesturing to the free chair beside him.

Zelgadis breathed deeply out his nostrils. At this rate, his only exit seemed miles away. He figured, the sooner he sat down the sooner the torture would end. He had nothing to offer, and he would prove so to Vonzelle.

Eventually, he planted himself in the proffered seat and crossed his arms over his rock-hard chest.

Vonzelle produced a wicked smile at his reluctant obedience. "_Thank you_, Mister Greywords," she sneered. Now, you were saying, Philionel," she proceeded, turning to her son-in-law.

With the correct letter in his grasp, Phil indulged his captive (party of one) audience. "I would like to recommend Lord Reynard Arron Tatum, Earl of Vawdrey from Wanbrone, Zephilia. I have met him on a handful of occasions, and I can attest to his character; he's easy to speak to and he is the most giving of men. His family has contributed not only to the restoration of Seyruun after the recent Zanaffar attack but has also procured a chain of charity homes for wayward mothers and their children. From what I've heard he's also an aspiring poet. Considering his interests and principles, I think he's someone Amelia would get along with very well."

"I have met the boy myself, Philionel," Vonzelle informed. "While his father is a man of admirable character, his son, from my own assessment, is nothing but a simpering fulsome romantic. He is not what I'd consider king material. He is _too _nice. Amelia's already _nice_. Two overly nice rulers equal an uprising in commoner's demands. If you're looking for someone who can make friendship bracelets with Amelia, then I am sure he would do_ nicely_."

Lina stopped midway through chewing her vanilla filled pancakes. _Ouch!_ she winced silently.

Zelgadis paused at this vivid character description as well. He visualized a grown non-descriptive man stringing wood beads on twine, weaving a daisy chain, playing with a cootie catcher riddled with names of the world's princes, and jotting down flowery entries in a locked but not-so-secret leather-bound diary under the covers of the night. He had to hold himself back from laughing. To be fair, that depiction was probably as inaccurate as Vonzelle's impression. If Phil approved, then there must have been something remotely redeemable… even if he did sound sickly winsome.

"Well, I still think Reynard is worth our time. He's my pick," Phil stood by, unmoved by his mother-in-law's lambasting.

The crown prince slapped the parchment onto the wooden top and released a satisfactory smile. A moment of silence stretched out. When nothing further was exchanged, Vonzelle's eyes sparked with stirring curiosity.

"_And_?" she broached.

Phil gave a blank stare and blinked. "And what?"

"Don't tell me that's all you came up with after being locked up in here all evening!" she exclaimed.

Phil's eyes shifted and he adjusted his throat. "Well uh… yes."

"After all those letters you only liked _one_ guy?" Lina moaned with half-chewed bacon stuffed on the one side of her cheek.

"He's the only one I'd approve of," Phil said evenly. "He's kind, not too old, and might hold Amelia's interest."

"That's a very slim 'might', Phil," Lina pointed out.

"How sad," Vonzelle sighed. "Apparently, your dire need for assistance rendered themselves useless."

"Useless?!" Lina echoed. Her silverware armed fists slammed themselves against the desk. Red eyebrows furrowed as the mental exhaustion of preserving through the dark hours of the earth took its toll. "I'm the one who stayed up the entire night!" she reminded.

Vonzelle simply arched an eyebrow gesturing towards the sorceress. "Then after all your hard work, what have you, Miss Inverse?" she pressed.

Lina crashed down into her chair and folded her arms. "Nothing, because I know there's not _one person_ in that stack who is what Amelia wants," she answered with trailing confidence up to her raised nose.

Vonzelle squinted. "Are you confirming that my granddaughter has someone in mind?"

"Uh—no!" she quickly rectified. Her fingers drummed against her chin, spewing a nervous lighthearted laugh between her fast-moving tongue. "I just mean her dream man, that's all. You know, a girl's fantasy?"

Vonzelle followed Lina's eyes. Studying people became a hobby of hers. And she had become quite good at it too. At her estate in Doonatel, she had caught a handful of servants amid lies; even her husband who had sworn up and down that he was watching his red meat intake. She read somewhere, in a newly written book, that expressed the exploratory idea of reading cues through physical movements. Telltale signs such as folded arms, dashing eyes, and wettened licked lips seemed to be a pattern of fibs. From her own observation, she found eerily similar evidence.

But at this moment, deciphering became a challenge. Either Lina found comfort in staring at the far righthand corner, or, subconsciously, of course, focusing on Zelgadis during the illicit questioning of her explanation. In any case, Vonzelle drew her own conclusions.

Her frown intensified. "Quite," she replied slowly. Her eyes drifted to Zelgadis. "Well, we're not looking for any 'dream man' here. We're looking for the next king of Seyruun."

From the pocket of her massive dress, Vonzelle withdrew a stamped letter. She smiled to herself reading the signature scribbled on the front. "Now, here's an acceptable candidate."

By exchange of hand, Phil received the letter and unfolded it.

"His name is Lord Esmour Asriel Ne Bardolf, Duke of Ula'ree of the Outer World," Vonzelle elucidated as he silently read to himself. "From what I've seen myself, he has taken the reins of his responsibilities quite well despite his father's passing. There was no resistance in fulfilling his father's promise to Doonatel's trade agreement. I first met him earlier this year, and he is nothing but a charming, articulate, and intelligent man with solid ethics. He could give Seyruun ties to the Outer World in which none of the other countries have. If anyone could handle the demands of a kingdom, it would be him."

From the corner of his eye, Zelgadis peered at the engrossed crowned prince. He observed his upper lip buried under ashy hair, waiting for its departure from the bottom one with impending inquisition. But nothing immediately came. Whatever the letter told, Phil, laminated quietly, stroking his chin.

Finally, he looked up at Vonzelle. "Where did you get this?"

"During my last visit. He personally delivered it to me after I informed him of Amelia's situation."

_Of course, _Zelgadis grumbled silently. Apparently, subtly did not matter to the marchioness. Amelia hadn't even met the man, and her grandmother already espoused this Lord Bardolf. After that testimony, Zelgadis was surprised she hadn't unveiled an engagement ring and wedding invitation samples out of those expensively spun pockets. Zelgadis relaxed at one reassuring reminder. If she thought her credence was enough to propel Phil to enforce a marriage, then she had another thing coming.

Phil sat the letter aside, steeping in his inner thoughts.

"Though I do not expect him to be Amelia's only choice," Vonzelle made important to clarify when the silence was too long to bear. "There is an abundance of names to consider… What is this pile?"

Her manicured index fingernail aimed at the towering titled stack of envelopes. After Phil's minimal declaration of approval, Lina thought the pile's identity was obvious.

"The rejects," the sorceress answered, seeing she was the only person in the room who had taken the time to structure an attempt at organization.

"Hmm…" Her gaze shifted and scanned another, smaller, heap. "And this?"

"We hadn't touched that stack yet—"

Before Lina could finish, Vonzelle collected the unexplored envelopes, sifting through them. Each family seal and name that withered against her preposterous standards were cruelly tossed to the side. Apparently, pickiness ran in the family.

"Now, let's see who we have here…" She paused, holding a single envelope in the air. She then proceeded to open it and skimmed through its contents. Her thin faded eyebrows rose. "Prince Domianus Cernea Le Brun Elemkia. Third in line for the Elmekia Empire. Considering his siblings are all married off to nobles of neighboring countries, it is to be expected he'd seek an alliance with Seyruun. Have you met him before, Philionel?"

"Only his parents," Phil replied.

"Well, _I_ have," she emphasized. "And I can tell you he has the reputation of being a philandering nitwit whose attention can only be held by portraits of nudes and jewel-encrusted objects. Not to mention, he has an extra toe."

"Which kind and on which foot?" Gourry asked, intrigued despite the unsavory subject while chewing.

Lina made a face. "Does it matter?" she retorted.

"So, he's an idiotic promiscuous inbred," Zelgadis summed up, arms folded across his chest. "But he's, at least, of a legitimate bloodline."

Vonzelle whipped her head in his direction and narrowed in on his intentional jab. She pursed her wrinkled lips. "Careful, Mister Greywords. May I remind you that you work for a family of a legitimate bloodline."

"Yes, well, none of them are sporting an extra digit," Zelgadis noted. He had no desire to contend with her, other than he wanted to match her previous caustic sting.

"Do you have something against those of a noble lineage, Mister Greywords?" Vonzelle asked, almost accusatory.

"Only when their prejudices affect their ability to govern."

"And what prejudices would these be?"

"Against the common people," he began, as if it were obvious. "What makes your son-in-law a standout among other rulers is because he sees his people as equals and acknowledges their hardships. He does not fault them for being poor or uneducated. Instead, he offers aid and expands their horizons."

"And so, you believe Amelia seeks similar qualities in a man?"

"Amelia was raised on these principles. You can draw your own conclusions," he advised bluntly.

He had hoped he made an impact— not that he desired any part in the handpicking of Amelia's future husband— but at the very least, some food for thought. If Vonzelle genuinely cared for Amelia, then she would attempt to search for a husband who shared similar sentiments…. Not that he meant to wave his own flag by use of suggestive implication. Absolutely not. He was simply advocating on Phil and Amelia's behalf. Nothing more.

"Very well," Vonzelle answered, uninjured by his curt response.

When she finished with the letter, Vonzelle tucked it back into the envelope and extended a hand before Lina. "I believe you know where this goes, Miss Inverse."

Letting go, the paper floated down like a feather, and thereafter, Vonzelle motioned her hand for Lina to collect the discarded applications. Being treated like a servant was getting old_ fast_. Raged fingers seized the paper, wadding it up into a crumpled ball. Before her arm could even stretch overhead, Zelgadis ceased the premature pitch and handed off the infantile weapon to Gourry, who was seated next to the available metal garbage can.

To Gourry's vivid imagination, the paper did not end its journey in the waste bin, but was taken apart, smoothed out, and in the hopes of his venture, given a new purpose in life. Zelgadis contemplated watching out of the oddity of Gourry's decision to repurpose the paper, but alas, was drawn in by Vonzelle's next proposal.

"Ah, now here's some who holds potential," she said with confidence. "Viscount Percival Oswin Manston from Bezeld, Kalmaart. He owns the Bleakburn estate. It has been passed down for many generations. He stands to inherit a substantial fortune from his surviving mother. He is an educated man, a patron to some of the finest establishments. Kalmaart's world-renowned amphitheater and museum of magical artifacts to be exact. Someone who wishes to expose the arts to all people.

"Now, how does that sound, Mister Greywords?" She kept watch of his expression and returned him with a pious smile. "Yes. He would be a man worth considering."

"I don't know, Mother," Phil hesitated, watching her add the letter to the 'approved collection' of eligible contenders. "I know of him, but I've never met the man myself. Besides, I think he's just a little too old for Amelia."

"He's only thirty, Philionel," she contended.

"Again, a little too old," he repeated.

Vonzelle paused, before dismissing her son-in-law's concerns altogether. "Well, do not fret," she assured half-heartedly. "We'll have Lord Tatum and Lord Bardolf to compensate for the age.

"Now, who's next?" she continued. She skipped examining the letter once she saw the name printed on the address. "A Mister Lefric Vorderman from Sairaag." She released a short mocking laugh. "_Ha_. The gall of the man. To think we'd permit a wool merchant to be king."

When she received no concurring sentiments, not even from Phil, she sighed in mental exhaustion. "Does anyone wish to take an educated guess as to why?" she pushed in an infra dig tone.

Zelgadis bristled at her provocation for a response. _"_Because Seyruun's economy does not rely on any production involving sheep," he reasoned. "If he was in search of a union, he'd be wise to look to the dignitaries of the Dils or Zephilia as they heavily rely on wool due to their colder climates."

Vonzelle's eyebrows rose as she nodded. "How very astute of you, Mister Greywords. Are you as well versed in my granddaughter's taste of men as you are in Seyruun's economics?"

The clamor of Zelgadis's conscious echoed: _Why did I have to open my big mouth?_ which furthered to annoy his already displeased state. He knew distracting himself from the question was useless; whatever Gourry was creating, the folds and creases did not make it easy to identify.

Vonzelle fixed him with a steady stare against his short-lived silence. Zelgadis snapped. "What's it to you if I know anything about Amelia's preferences? I already told you what I assume," he reminded.

"There's no need to be irascible, Mister Greywords," Vonzelle lectured. "I am simply asking for your perspective. You are not only my granddaughter's friend, but her bodyguard. From what Amelia tells me, you spend a great deal of time together. Surely you know some of her most— intimate thoughts."

He hated how she paused and even more how she carefully finished her sentence. Before Zelgadis responded, he felt fatherly eyes shrink him with piercing intensity.

"Do you?" Phil asked, his tone muddled between surprise and suspicion.

Zelgadis returned Phil a look of 'you know me well enough to know the answer'. He settled his narrowed eyes back onto Vonzelle. "I'm afraid to disappoint you, but I don't."

"What a shame," she breathed sardonically.

Zelgadis scoffed. "Hardly. What's your game with this inquisition? Didn't you just say we aren't looking for Amelia's 'dream man'?"

A change in expression spread across the marchioness's face. She sat back; her refined posture still intact. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, You're right, Mister Greywords. Thank you for correcting me. We certainly aren't looking for any 'dream man'," she stated with condescension.

"Well, I think we should at least consider traits Amelia would have in common or admire—" Phil interjected.

"I believe we've already established such, Philionel," Vonzelle cut short. Her hand grappled another letter, cold eyes diverting to the rigid chimera. "So long as these 'traits' stay in the confines of good breeding."

Zelgadis reflected the personal barb. He tried to tell himself it didn't hurt because he didn't care.

"Here's a man with promise." Other than a pale milky white, a rare shade of faint rose dusted Vonzelle's cheeks. Her smile, for a near ten seconds, was halfway genuine. "Lord Ozbert Harrelsone, Baron of Garigill along the Alliance of the Coastal States. He's a levelheaded man with an abundance of political connections that would give Seyruun stronger connections with our already formed allies. Under normal circumstances, he would make a splendid match for Amelia." Her tone and expression shifted. "Alas, I'm afraid time is not on his side."

"Is he sick?" Gourry presumed, working on the last finishing touches of his creation.

"No, Mister Gabriev," Vonzelle replied flatly. "He's seventy-three with a failing libido. And that most certainly won't do. It goes without saying that heirs are a necessity."

_And she knows this how?_ Zelgadis couldn't resist wondering. He rationalized, Vonzelle must have come to that conclusion based on the relative facts of aging… right? His mind terminated the exploration of that conclusion.

There was another troubling matter of this letter that left him stunned. He shook his head at the mere thought of a seventy-three-year-old man seriously believing a young woman, such as Amelia herself, would even contemplate his offer of marriage. Yes, arrangements of all kinds were made for the benefit of a family, financial gain, and this case, a country. But what Zelgadis could not comprehend was that a man, whose years in the sun were so long ago, chanced that his proposal would outshine a man three times younger, stronger, and well, if he had to be crude, who possessed greater sexual potency than himself. The thought alone made him blush.

"I'd prefer not to have a son-in-law older than myself," Phil noted with a scrunched nose, ushering the letter into the stack of disqualified contenders.

"That's a no brainer," Lina concurred, wiping grease off her hands with a supplied cloth napkin. She leaned back in her chair, her stomach very much content but full. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have unbuttoned her pants too.

The atmosphere in the room dropped to near silence as Vonzelle further sorted and counted the approved requests to four. When no further effort went into picking apart the letters, she released a purposefully intended sigh. Being the sole arbiter for standards was a tiresome task. She tapped her index finger against the desk in exasperation at Lina's lax state, Gourry's tinkering mind, Zelgadis's blatant refusal, and Phil's eagerness to wrap things up.

"Well come now," she ordered, catching their attention, "I must not do all the work— Would anyone else like to make a suggestion?"

Before anyone could answer honestly, Gourry innocently fished through the few scattered paper he initially collected off the floor. Randomly, he pulled one out among the stack, fleetingly glanced over it, and raised it in the air.

"What about this Count guy from Calcherth, Lyzeille? He seems to have a pretty good track record," he inquired, seeing he found no striking blemishes as the other bachelors.

Lina's blunt thin elbow nudged the swordsman in the arm. He rubbed it and turned to her while she hissed, "What are you doing, Gourry? Are you trying to force Amelia into an unhappy marriage?"

"No." He blinked. "The opposite."

"I suppose we must consider Count Bolivar Savill as a candidate," Vonzelle sighed, not particularly excited about the prospect. "I personally know little of him but Doonatel owes his aunt a favor after her generous donation to our infrastructure proposal."

"So, a pity invite?" Zelgadis surmised flatly.

Vonzelle centered her focus on Zelgadis as she took the letter from Gourry. "If you do not approve of the selection, Mister Greywords, perhaps you would like to make a suggestion?"

"No, thank you," he replied snidely.

How long had Vonzelle had them locked in the study anyhow? Zelgadis peered over his shoulder and stared at the clock. He groaned inwardly at how much time had been wasted on his account. He knew, despite requiring sleep, Amelia was a punctual creature and would be searching for either him or Phil sooner than later. Considering how opposed she had been to marry a man in her world of status and wealth, Zelgadis feared how livid she would be to find not only her father but _her_ closest friends locked in secret with _her _meddling grandmother all while in the process of handpicking _her_ a husband.

As his gaze returned forward, Zelgadis's eyes danced about the room. He searched for a distraction as Phil and Vonzelle talked among themselves. He had attuned his ability to listen closely while otherwise, keeping himself occupied with something else. And in this instance, oddly enough, he found himself not drawn by Phil's urgency to think of Amelia amidst the prospective suitors but to finally know what enraptured Gourry's preoccupied attention.

"What are you doing?" Zelgadis asked.

The tip of the swordsman's tongue rested on his upper lip as he fine-tuned the finishing touches. "Making somethin'," he replied.

"We can see that," Lina joined in, just as perturbed by his silent dedication to his handiwork. "But what is it?"

"I'm wondering if I can get this to fly," he answered, straightening what appeared to be wings.

"What would be the reason for that?" Zelgadis posed.

Gourry shrugged. "Just to see if it works." He paused and broke out into a smile. "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if this were a model for something that could actually fly us from place to place? It'd save everyone a lot of time when traveling."

"Why would we need something that could fly when we can do that ourselves?" Lina contended.

"Well, not everyone is a sorcerer. And most people don't own dragons."

Already amped with a counterargument, Lina paused and mulled over his justification. In return, she simply smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "You're full of surprises, you know that?"

Between the thin gap that separated the bottom of the door to the floor, stood a faint shadow of feet. Zelgadis froze as the doorknob jiggled and then turned. A mind-numbing creak dispersed. The sound, which was profound to only his troubled ears, extended its agonizing cry. The exhilarated speed of his pumping heart and now pulse blended into a medley of portending trepidation. He swallowed hard, expecting to be confronted by an explosion of emotions from his rightfully stunned friend.

Thankfully, unless she had been compelled to grow a stubbled trimmed beard in a matter of hours and sport menswear, the presence was anything but her and so assuaged Zelgadis's simmering alarm.

A messenger bowed upon entrance as he stood by the door. "Prince Philionel, I apologize for interrupting, but a letter has arrived. It's urgent you open it at once."

Phil's stolen attention led to the abandonment of his conversation with his mother-in-law. He smiled and motioned with a friendly hand for the messenger to come forward.

The messenger bowed as he placed the letter in the crowned prince's hand. Phil nodded, thanked him, and then permitted the man to leave. His stare intensified with sharp focus as he ran his thumb over the familiar bloodred wax seal.

"It's from Ralteague," he announced.

Head and shoulders first, Zelgadis, Lina, and Gourry, leaned in. Without hesitation, they encroached on the crowned prince's space.

Uninformed, of the ongoing circumstances, Vonzelle rose an eyebrow at the trio's strange fixation. "Well, open it," she encouraged, with bubbling interest.

Lina and Gourry waited with heightened anticipation. The hair stood up on the back of their necks and they wrung their hands. Concerns of evidence being left behind after their thievery at Ralteague's rival ice cream shop bloomed in their frenzy filled minds. They had hoped that their personal friendship and ties with the royal family had not linked Phil to the transgression.

Zelgadis, on the other hand, led himself to believe the contents bore negotiations regarding the land agreement. After all, Ralteague had demonstrated eagerness for another meeting to ensure their portion of the acreage.

Phil slid the letter opener under the edge of the seal, gliding the knife along the undercarriage until the contents within were revealed. Inside, a single piece of parchment lay neatly folded. Soon, Phil unfolded it and within seconds could not read past the first sentence. Astonishment raced across his budged eyes and traveled down to his crinkled nose and slanted mouth. All observed his shift in expression and crept closer in desperation.

"What is it, Phil?" Lina demanded.

Phil arched his bushy eyebrows. It's from Prince Derek," he declared.

"What does he want?" Zelgadis pressed.

Phil lowered the letter and stared ahead. "He's asking for permission to court Amelia."

Lina sat up in her chair. "You're joking," she balked.

The crowned prince shook his head, skimming over the letter once more. "I can't believe it myself."

"You're not seriously gonna let him, are ya Phil?" Gourry interjected.

Zelgadis struggled to keep his lower jaw departing from the top. Hadn't Prince Derek declared, most rudely in fact, that he had no interest in Amelia? As of yesterday, Phil had gotten the impression that the prince wanted anything but another fiancée. And now, here was a letter, sent out within less than twenty-four hours. To Zelgadis, this request of courtship was nothing but an act of duplicity and scheming chicanery of King Henry's. Too bad for him, this letter's final resting place would be in the ashes of a stoked fire.

Phil steeped himself in a long thoughtful pause before breaking out into a small smile. "Well, I think we could include him out of pure nicety," he decided, placing the letter down. "I mean, we have invited no other princes and they are our neighbors to the west. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to see the man's intentions."

Zelgadis allowed his mouth to drop. Had Phil forgotten _everything_? And hadn't Phil _just_ theorized what a dissonant match his daughter and the prince would be based on their countries' political standings alone? He caught himself in time before an inadvertent objection burst between his lips. Then he bore in mind Phil's reconsideration. Zelgadis raised his eyebrows in surprise. Had he seriously considered using the prince as a pawn much like his own father had? Though he did not fully agree with this form of tactic, it was the perfect charade for Seyruun to launch back in the hopes of uncovering Ralteague's true agenda.

"Well,_ I've_ never met the prince, Philionel," Vonzelle interposed. "Besides, I thought he was already married."

Phil frowned at her mimicking protest to that of his earlier grievances. "You're thinking of his brother," he rectified.

"That's right, now I recall," she realized. "He's the one whose engagement was—" Her eyes slit. "Shall we say, short-lived," she finished with purposeful intent.

"A prior engagement has nothing to do with him as a person," Phil disabusing her implied judgment. "I've known him since he was a boy and I can attest that he has become an ambitious and hardworking man."

_Cepheid knows_ _Henry has shaped him as such, _he thought with a light snort.

"He has a military background, he's versed in politics, and he's appropriate for Amelia's age. Not to mention, I hear he's rather popular with the ladies," Phil added as if the purposeful fawning of a superficial perk would be of persuasion.

With a fixed contemplative stare, the marchioness soaked in her son-in-law's cogent defense of Prince Derek. Finally, when she could not find anything adverse, she complied. "I suppose. Perhaps a man of militaristic background would be of use to our pacifist nation. And we must consider someone to compliment my granddaughter's looks. For instance, portraits... and youthful virility of course."

"Like kids?" Gourry inferred.

"Yes, Mister Gabriev. Children," she patronized dryly. Icy blue eyes kept in sight of Phil. "Ceifeed knows this family could benefit from a little beautification."

"What are you implying?" Phil questioned, insecure by her shifting eyes to his freely growing mustache.

"Then perhaps we have seen enough," Vonzelle concluded on behalf of well, everyone. "If you include the toadying idealist and this Prince Derek fellow then that makes it— five suitors? That should be a sufficient selection. We wouldn't want to overwhelm the girl either.

"I believe we may proceed to the next phase then," Vonzelle asserted. She abandoned her chair and with her reliable cane, strutted to the door. Without bothering to face the others, she motioned her hand for them to follow.

Lina swiveled in her chair, her hand resting on the back as her eyebrows rose. "Next phase?" Frankly, she had listened to enough. Not even the most sumptuous cuisine would motivate her involvement any longer in this boring suitor business.

Vonzelle stopped in her tracks. When she pivoted to face the sorceress, she leveled her with a haughty gaze. "Planning a ball of course!" she trumpeted as if this common practice should have been plain as day.

As a muscular arm stood erect in the air, Gourry at last, let his paper winged invention fly directly over the marchioness articulately stacked hair. The initial ten seconds was a proud moment of achievement for the swordsman. That is until a feminine silhouette flitted into the study. There, a petite peach-colored arm stretched and with a little jump, grasped the flying contraption into her gentle grasp. She brought it to her chest. She gazed up.

Wide cobalt eyes shook lost in bewilderment at the gathering before her. "A ball?" a soprano voice rang out. Her eyebrows furrowed in suspecting dread. "What's going on?"

Zelgadis grimaced._ Busted._

* * *

**A/N Continued: **And this concludes our program! I hope you all enjoyed this one scene. I must admit, this chapter was a chore to get through. I had three different ideas has to how this chapter would go about. The initial two I was not content with, so I went with the latter, rewriting the chapter. Originally, I tried to keep Zelgadis in control and avoid the situation of the letters altogether, while leaving Phil, Lina, Gourry, and Vonzelle to discuss the letters... but I found it much more believable for him to be confronted with the subject of the suitors, and therefore, Vonzelle. This won't be the last time these two face off! :)

Furthermore, after watching T.V. shows and reading examples of prospective suitors from books, scripts, fics, etc. I knew I wanted to give the reader a little background on the potential suitors vying for Amelia's hand and for readers to get a peek at who will be invited to the palace since it had been previously discussed in an earlier chapter that Vonzelle and Phil would do so. So many great thanks and an abundance of credit to those written works who brought inspiration! :)

And Gourry's little invention was inspired by Gary Oldman's character (Rosencrantz) in _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_. I highly recommend this movie if you have not yet checked it out! It's a dark comedy of sorts based on Shakspeare's play, _Hamlet_, and I just love how those few moments where Rosencrantz invents something of our modern time and that his ideas are easily dismissed. There will be more Rosenctranz-esque moments to come! ;)

And now the suitors have been chosen! Time to make preparations for the ball, and Amelia's reaction, _and_ of course further discussions about the book... Until then!


	7. Incipient

**Author's Note: **Hello, everyone, and happy summer! Summertime means more opportunities for writing, right? Not so far... but I will continue to try to post one chapter a month! Thank you as always for your patience and understanding. And an even bigger thanks for continuing to read _Troubled Waters_. This story has been a pleasure to construct and a good test run for writing my own original novels, so I'm happy to have readers who are enjoying it as well. :) I know it's been a slow progression for the story to move forward, but I'm happy to say from this chapter onward expect exciting new developments! :)

Happy reading! Hope everyone is remaining and safe and healthy during this time.

**Disclaimer: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters **

Chapter 7

**Incipient **

Zelgadis could not keep his eyes off a wilted Amelia.

A dainty crudely painted wild rose teacup laid nestled in her weak grasp, seated upon the delicate fabric of her casual dress. The usually vibrant hues of blue irises turned dark and her full upturned rosy pink lips were sloped downward. Her gaze fixated on the low setting wooden coffee table planted before her, though no excitable activity took place among the china set. Only lemon tart crumbs left behind on a silver tray, and random stacked books remained.

Zelgadis did not need to access her mind to know her inner thoughts. Often rarely dispensed, he felt drawn to her quiet internal emotional chaos. When her grandmother informed her of the handpicked suitors, he swore she had sucked all the vibrancy right out of Amelia.

Normally, he did not fret over others' feelings, but in this instance, he couldn't help but feel partially responsible for her current state. He was in the study after all. He tried his best not to partake, but he certainly didn't foil Vonzelle's plan either. He reasoned it had nothing to do with him. Which it didn't. Still, as a friend, he silently sent his sympathies.

And now here they were, adjourned in the Solar over pastries and teas, discussing vivid details on the intended guests.

"It is only appropriate we host a welcoming ball for our selected suitors," Vonzelle said, perched on the northern velvet chair. "Given we must factor in travel, I believe the end of October will be sufficient enough time for the suitors' arrivals."

Phil nodded, comfortably seated on the sofa nearest Amelia. "Agreed."

"With that in mind, we must consider everything and anything," she emphasized, balancing her teacup and saucer with one hand. "Not a single detail or accommodation must be overlooked. And, of course, we must compile a thoughtful guest list for the ball. We will have to invite the capitals' dignitaries, noblemen, and ladies. This event is a monument for Amelia. Everyone important to our country needs to attend." Her attention turned to her granddaughter. She took a sip. "Will your little friends still be present by the time of the ball?"

Amelia perked and her eyebrows furrowed. "They most certainly will," she snapped before they answered for themselves.

Vonzelle's cold gaze scanned over her granddaughter's 'little friends'. "I see," she said. Her focus settled on two out of the three 'little friends'. "As much as I abhor gluttony, doubling the rations will be essential. And of course, they will need appropriate attire to blend in."

A noticeable ear-splitting clang rang as Amelia's teacup collided with its plate. Zelgadis winced. He or anyone else in the room for that matter didn't require verbal indication to know Amelia's sincere disdain for her grandmother's choice of words.

Alas, Vonzelle ignored such and proceeded. "Now, before any details are discussed I must obtain your event coordinator."

"Oh, you mean a party planner," Phil said.

"Yes, Philionel. A '_party planner_'," she reiterated with a sarcastic bite. "Now, who do I call upon?"

"We don't have one," he admitted.

Vonzelle's eyebrows rose. "You don't have one? How on earth do you manage?"

Phil shrugged. "The staff normally just throws one together. It's a collaborative effort. We enjoy the comradery. Getting everyone's opinions and ideas really makes a difference what with keeping things running smoothly around here," he added turning to Amelia for a nod of confirmation.

Normally she would have given one without hesitation. Instead, he found her slouched forward with full cloudy eyes entranced by the mahogany lukewarm tea in her teacup. He exhaled deeply at his daughter's inability to shift mental gears.

Phil's vision of democracy, while struggled to gain acceptance from neighboring countries, flourished inside his castle. The staff had become a tightknit family in of itself. Whenever a special occasion arose, everyone pitched in. And not by manual labor alone. Minds were put to work and views expanded. The democratic system consisted of input from every able body person present; handmaids, foot servants, messengers, guards, the kitchen staff; no person's perspective was shunned.

Handmaids sampled dishes from appetizers to desserts, guards delegated who would take which quarters, cooks addressed how many dishes could be made at a single time, and consideration went into how much servants could carrying upon heavy weighted silver trays as well as an influx of food being dispersed at specific serving periods. And, of course, everyone created an itinerary when it came to taking shifts. Phil even went as far as to consider his employee's personal schedules.

But comradery was a foreign concept to the Marchioness of Doonatel. Servants making blatant demands, cooks controlling the flow of food service, peasant girls giving out opinions as if they were renowned food critics— Vonzelle huffed under breath. No wonder her granddaughter muddled the limitations of social placement between someone of a pure bloodline to the lowly simple commoner.

"Well that is not acceptable," she proclaimed. "I need a reliable living, breathing, and preferably _thinking_ assistant. Not a herd of moaning cattle. Now, whom would you suggest undertaking such an important task?"

The crown prince gave a thoughtful pause. "How about our head maid Miss Krea?" he offered with a confident smile as reached for measly crumbs of dessert. Every bite, even if it was less than half the size of a mouse, had to be eaten. "I appointed her to look after your rooms. As I'm sure you've seen for yourself, she has a great eye for detail—"

"I dismissed the rotund ingrate yesterday evening."

Lemon crumbs planted between two wedges of fingers froze midway into the entrance of Phil's gaping mouth. He pulled the pathetic serving away from his salivating tongue, stunned. "What on earth for?" he demanded.

"She's loud."

"Loud?" he echoed. His brow crinkled. "I've never found her to be boisterous—"

"Her shoes," Vonzelle clarified. "She clogs about my rooms like a thunder beast that peace becomes an unattainable dream."

As much ample evidence Phil had to protest against Vonzelle's dismissal of the poor Miss Krea, he glumly admitted to himself that he should not have been shocked. After all, Vonzelle pickiness led beyond the simple qualifications of suitors and staff. If dispositions were traceable, which they often were, he was certain that his mother-in-law's pettifogging blossomed at the early age of three from mushy foods to frivolous toys.

The crown prince scratched his woolly chin and picked his brain. "Well, uh— I suppose I could suggest—"

"Don't bother, Philionel," his mother-in-law silenced. She leaned forward, shoulders stiff and straight, as she picked up the half-full teapot. "I will simply have to outsource," she decided, refreshing her teacup.

The steam rose into puffy translucent clouds as the boiled liquid hit the bottom of the teacup. A shivering cast of blue irises appeared through the warm fog, slowly glancing at one occupied sofa then the other. "The least someone could do is take notes for me until I obtain a professional." Her eyes settled on the target. She sat back into her embedded posture. "Now, Miss Inverse, you appear to be capable of notetaking."

Lina broke from her drifting thoughts. Planning parties never carried interest for her. Unless the conversation consisted of food.

She frowned and rose an eyebrow. "Oh, do I? Well, I'm glad to get confirmation on that," she replied with a sarcastic bite.

"I don't know," Gourry chimed in. "Have you seen Lina's chicken scratch?" he asked, his thumb pointing to the redhead.

Lina slugged him in the arm. "My handwriting is not chicken scratch!"

"I was only trying to be helpful," he said, rubbing his pained skin.

Vonzelle's attention ventured to the ceiling, as if the heavens had nothing better to do than to listen to an old woman's woes. Her features tightened. "What must I do for some cooperation? Prod people with a stick?"

_Oh, you know you'd enjoy it,_ Zelgadis thought silently.

But in all seriousness, considering Lina as her personal scriber was something to mock at. Lina's fiery hair matched her fiery temper. With a personality like that, Lina was the _last_ person to willingly abide as someone's toady.

"Listen, Marchioness," the sorceress started. "I'm not a secretary girl. Things like notes and scribbling down copies… I'm more of a figure it out as you go along kind of gal, you know?"

"You do not need to testify to me, Miss Inverse," Vonzelle assured, unmoved by the bout of failed persuasion. "I know you're an unacceptable choice by most standards. But given how things are run around here, this is not a typical situation. I can see my options are limited so you will have to do. Now, would you humor an old woman and kindly take some notes?"

Zelgadis watched Lina's temper flare. She seized a piece of parchment and dipped inked feather from the corner table next to the sofa like a viper to its vermin prey. She paused momentarily, then fidgeted with the parchment against the soft terrain of her fabric-covered legs.

She huffed. "What am I supposed to write on?" she griped.

"The coffee table," Zelgadis offered.

Lina gave him a terse look. _Well, duh. Never mind what it'll do to my back!_

Recognizing no alternative, Lina leaned forward and endured the arduous task.

Gourry's lips lowered close to her ear. "You know, someone should invent some kind of a board with a clip mechanism thingy so the paper can sit easily in your lap."

Lina scrutinized his smile and squinted. "What's with you being an innovator today?" she asked.

"Now, first thing tomorrow morning, I would like the invitations to be ready and handed to the errand boy so they may be mailed out," Vonzelle said. She hadn't bothered to pause out of courtesy for Lina to keep up. "Given proper procedure, Philionel will write the invitations. Once he is finished, perhaps you can incorporate pressed dried lavender into the invitation. Lavender is very demurring. Scents, given in the right context, make excellent impressions. The envelope must also have the Seyruun family's royal wax seal stamped on for formality— and no smears or drips. And for goodness sake, do not neglect to ensure the correct address is printed on each letter."

"Whoa, whoa!" Lina cried out, only halfway through writing the Marchioness' demands. "You just said I would be taking notes not actually doing any of this stuff!" she reminded.

Vonzelle nodded after a sip of tea. "Yes, taking notes for yourself for the tasks at hand. Do not fret, I will not exceed beyond what you're capable of."

Lina visibly bristled. Against the tip of the quill, she imbedded a deep circular stain of ebony ink onto the parchment.

"Once the letters are mailed off, Philionel and I will take our business down to the kitchens," she continued. "Make a note that I would like the head chef to include not only a four-course meal, but appetizers as well. Five should be sufficient. We will need enough food for at least a hundred guests. And we cannot neglect dessert. An autumnal theme given the changing season would do nicely. Come, come, any ideas?"

"Perhaps a favorite of Amelia's?" Phil offered with a smile.

Amelia pursed her lips to retain calmness. The strength of her riled tongue, however, urged the seam of her quivering lips to break. She gave a swift chin thrust to her grandmother. "So, the dessert is the only say I get in this?" she remarked with piercing eyes.

Phil winced. One eyelid dared to pop open to his left. There, he discovered experienced battle-scarred icy daggers equipped to slice and dice his daughter's words.

Vonzelle's poker face trailed from Amelia to her 'little friends'. "Miss Inverse, Mister Gabriev, Mister Greywords— Would you kindly excuse yourselves for a moment?"

Her tone carried more authority rather than a polite request. Amelia jumped at this, right before they inched up from their seats. "They aren't going anywhere," she disputed. "Anything you say to me you can say in front of them."

Vonzelle huffed under her breath. She placed her teacup and saucer back onto the table. "Very well. Suit yourself. I see this was inevitable, despite my efforts to spare you from discomfiture," she resolved. Waves of wrinkles from her forehead to chin exacerbated the crepiness of her skin. "If you're going to protest, hold your tongue for a moment, will you? It is not as if a wedding is around the corner. We simply need an engagement confirmed and arrangements made. Given how much time has slipped by, no thanks to your father's procrastination, we cannot afford for your eligibility to be in question any longer. You should be thanking me. _I am_ doing this for _your_ benefit after all."

"I didn't ask for _you_ to do this on _my_ behalf, Grandmother Vonzelle. I didn't ask for any of this!" she retaliated. "And my friends _certainly_ didn't ask to be dragged into this either!"

Though she was at their defense, Lina, Zelgadis, and Gourry could not resist the temptation to sink their heads into the collars of their shirts. Sidelong glances were exchanged among the three. A distinctive quiver in their stomachs spelled trouble.

"Amelia, please," Phil beseeched, with raised opened hands. "Let's just try to stay calm. We discussed that the letters would have to be attended to."

Amelia's riled temper broke, turning to her father. "Well, of course, but—"

"And you know I wouldn't invite just anyone—"

"And I trust your judgment—"

"And I would_ never_ let _anyone_ force you to marry without your consent," Phil emphasized, now holding her petite hands into his. He bared a small smile. "Your grandmother and I would just like you to meet some nice young men so you can know your options. That's all."

Amelia withdrew from the gentle patting of his manly fingers. She flashed a set of pleading eyes. "But—"

"Amelia, enough," Vonzelle said, her voice like a knife cutting through spirited wind. "You shall not question your father's decision. The suitors will be arriving, and you will comport respectfully and obediently for the good of the kingdom. You do not want to make an ill first impression with your future husband."

It was Amelia's turn to remove her tea from her lap. A loud thud of china against wood clattered into the ears of all, followed by an intransigent cast of cobalt irises. She inhaled a deep breath and jutting out her chest with evenly aligned shoulders. "Grandmother Vonzelle, while I promise to be on my utmost best behavior, I cannot promise you that any such unions will come to fruition. I have already said that I _do not_ want to get engaged to any of those men and_ nothing_ you say or do will change my mind."

_Oh no,_ Zelgadis cringed. Amelia refused to be dissuaded and subjugated by archaic traditions. Not that he had anything against her standing up for herself. Given the circumstance, he would have done the same. But given her grandmother's polished long fingernails digging into the velvet of the armrests, he feared an explosion in the making.

Vonzelle's snowy eyebrows furrowed. "I will not tolerate such insubordination from my granddaughter. You will seek out the best in those men and choose a husband within the designated parameters." Her eyes slowly journeyed to her left. She gave a long side glance squint. "_Anyone _outside of sensibility is completely unacceptable."

Zelgadis swiveled his attention down to the floor. _Damn_, he cursed to himself. He knew there was no need to retreat, no reason to avert his attention. His eyes tilted up enough to see the marchioness's cold stare. He felt like the centered red circle of a target board as her eyes became the ever increasingly close arrow. He shot back up, hungered to challenge her unwarranted glare.

"Now hold on!" Phil interrupted. "I never said she _had_ to choose—"

"I will do no such thing!" Amelia blasted. Vonzelle's eyes bulged as the princess flew from her seat. Her chest swelled up, an index finger pointed straight out, and her petite feet widened their stance. "My mind is already made up. In the name of justice, your 'sensibility' cannot change what my heart feels!"

"Justice," Vonzelle mocked. "Young lady, you don't know the half of it."

Amelia's teeth clenched tighter as her grandmother's sneer pushed free from its corner. "You're wrong! This attempt to control my future is nothing but an injustice to my happiness! I've already told you that I am not interested in Lord Bardolf or any of those other men! When I do choose a husband, it certainly won't be from yours or anyone else's selection! I will get married _when _I like and to _whomever_ I like! And I certainly don't need _your_ permission!"

Across, the room mouths gaped, lips stilted in time. Even the marchioness, who believed gaping mouths to be unbecoming, found herself susceptible to the natural reaction. Words failed to be voiced even as Amelia marched straight past her grandmother without casting a single glance of regret.

The first to snap out of the contagious stupor, Phil leaped from his seat and cried out, "Amelia, wait!—"

_SLAM!_

The echoing of the closed-door freed Vonzelle of her paralysis trance. A series of blinks commenced followed by a muttering hiss. "Insolent girl…"

If there was ever a cue to exit, this was it. Slowly, Lina inched herself from the sofa with Gourry and Zelgadis following promptly behind. Phil looked to the trio, as they rounded behind the sofa.

"We'll go talk to her," Lina said.

Phil returned her offer with a curt nod. He focused back onto his mother-in-law; who's facial muscles had tightened with a flat-lined lip. His rumbling voice lowered with a careful tactic. "Now Mother, I know you're upset by Amelia's conduct, but I think it's best we let her cool off for a while. I'll speak to her later when she's in a better frame of mind."

Flinty eyes caught him by surprise. "Later will do nothing. This effrontery is simply intolerable! I will not stand for such blatant defiance. See to it Philionel, that your daughter is poised by the time our guests arrive. Now, where did Miss Inverse go? I need her to calculate the estimated time for each suitor to arrive by our designated date of the invite."

* * *

By the time they caught up with her, Amelia's stomping feet had made themselves eminent to the upstairs castle corridors.

They retreated to the sanctuary of Zelgadis's rooms, where Amelia comfortability conducted her frustrations in a constructive manner without privacy invaded. Lina urged Zelgadis to retrieve the book for herself, while she and Gourry sat by as an audience to the princess's parade of venting.

"Grandmother Vonzelle has gone too far!" she blared without care of her rising octave. "She knows Daddy's intimidated by her and now she's using that to her own advantage to get me engaged to a man I specifically said I have no interest in!"

Zelgadis listened from the sidelines, kneeling to reach under his bed. "She has been awfully calculating," he said. As he pushed himself further under the frame, Gingersnap came dashing out. He then bonked his head by the slight elevation to view her flittering duster tail. He cursed under his breath.

Lina flopped backward and smashed onto Zelgadis's downy goose-feathered comforter. Her amber eyes stared up at the pristinely painted sealing. Below, she could hear another muffled rumble but decided to ignore it. She then extended her arms straight out from her sides.

"Yeah," she breathed out. "She was pretty adamant about that Lord Bardolf when Phil went over the letters. For only meeting the guy on a handful of occasions, he got accolades compared to the rest. The more I think about it, it's like we were just her personal audience. I don't know what for. Other than to convince you or something. She kept wanting our opinions."

"Or to simply degrade us," Zelgadis said, finally emerging from under the bed.

Amelia twirled to her crouched bodyguard and pointed fervently with a nod. "And that! The way she treats you guys— it's unforgivable!" Her eyes flared with pumped fists. "No one should devalue someone just because of what class they were born into! She isn't even giving you guys a chance!"

Zelgadis hardly felt himself becoming riled. Yes, the marchioness' acts were annoying and degrading; and he never preferred to be someone's plaything for personal demented pleasure— but what transpired was still of no surprise.

Zelagdis shook his head and leaned against the bedpost with the book in his grasp. "Amelia, for people like your grandmother, it doesn't matter. As far as she's concerned, she doesn't _need_ to get to know us. Someone could be genuinely kind, or highly versed in a subject, or a near-genius and if they didn't fit her qualifications, she'd still impugn regardless of what you say to be the truth. To her, all that matters at the end of the day is money and connections. _Lineage_. And not one of us has an ounce of any of that."

Lina sat up at this point, stretching her arms backward for support against the mattress. "Besides, you know she'll just go by what rumors people have spread about me and Gourry. And she's probably suspicious of Zelgadis because of his appearance."

"I wouldn't call them all rumors," Gourry held back a snort. "And they're mostly about you."

"But it's so wrong," Amelia testified despite her friend's argument, in the process, diffusing the clenched fist of Lina's hand to Gourry's face. "You guys are _my _friends! You are welcome here anytime just like she is. Though now I'm reconsidering that invite _shouldn't_ be extended to her. Family or not, that's no excuse to come barging in here and thinking she can do whatever she wants!

"Who does she think she is anyway? Coming into _my_ home and telling me what to do with my life and whom to share it with? I'm the princess of Seyruun! I have rank on my side!" She froze another mid-frazzled step. Her soft fingers brushed against her bottom lip as she bit into it. "But she probably knows I would never use it outside the cause for justice— but this is an injustice!" she cried out, curled hands enclosing around her pumping heart. "A woman in my position should not only be able to decide when she wants to get married but to _whom_ she'd like! How can we advance as a society when we hold potential changes like this back?"

Zelgadis stirred with silent observation, engrossed in every move Amelia made. The tiring frustration in her voice transferred to him as if he could feel the tightness in her throat, her curled toes rubbing against the undercarriage of her heels, and the heaviness of her clenched shoulders. Strange. It had been years since he embraced verbal commiserating.

"You're right, Amelia," he finally said. He kept steady eye contact, holding her attention. "I could not and would not dispute that. But you know more than any of us that the world of politics is a difficult current to change."

"Zelgadis is right," Lina concurred. "I mean, I understand why you're upset; I would be too if I were in your shoes. And as much as we'd like things to be different, it's not easy for dated traditions to change overnight. But in all honestly, what's the worst your grandmother can do?"

Amelia perked from her inner soaking with blinking bold eyes. "What do you mean, Miss Lina?"

"Think about it, Amelia," Lina said, motioning towards the princess. "She may be your grandmother and the marchioness of Doonatel, but here, she really has no power. It's all just smokes and mirrors with her. You know your dad's not going to make you marry anyone without your consent; and if your grandmother was smart, which I don't doubt that she is, then she knows, ultimately, that Phil has the final say.

"So, you might as well just grin through it. Your grandmother can't make the suitors stay forever and she _definitely_ can't enforce a relationship when one party refuses to comply. So really, this get-together is solely just to humor the old harpy… No offense."

It was the first time since early that morning Amelia's lips turned up. Her peachy skin brightened and her irises danced with a glisten of hope. "You're right, Miss Lina. She can't make me marry anyone! It's just the idea of it all…" Her smile shrank, then returned with a nod. "But I do feel a little bit better about it now."

Lina sprang from the bed and gave her friend a firm pat on the shoulder. "Good! Now onto the important stuff!"

Amelia's shoulders slouched at this. "I thought it was pretty important," she muttered.

"So, where's the book, Zel?" Lina cut to the chase.

Zelgadis breathed out through his nostrils. He assumed she'd change the topic of discussion sooner than later. He handed over the book with an extended arm. "Right here."

As the book was placed in her grasp, Lina could feel the weight of its density against her open palms. With her fingers caressing the leather cover, she dove into the book's contents. Her vague expectations crept with surprise. From personal experience, mysterious books typically held myths, lost languages, or perhaps even lost magic techniques. Instead, poetic lines varying from frolicking lambs and sleeping petals graced her sight. Each page she flipped left her more perplexed than before. Her attention diverted to Zelgadis as a cue for an explanation.

"It's filled with nothing but poems," he said. "Amelia and I skimmed through several of them last night. Based on the writings, we couldn't find any obvious significance as to why the book was magically sealed. Other than it may have belonged to the Payne family."

"It must have been theirs," Amelia insisted. "I mean, what were the chances of Mister Zelgadis finding this chest right on the road where they perished? There's just— something not right about all of this."

Lina's voice fell quiet. "I agree."

She shut the book with a noticeable thud and bounced off the bed. Her amateur detective instinct ignited itself and she dove headfirst into the uncharted waters of developing theories. Taking center stage, she stood before her friends, prepared to lay everything out onto the table.

"Okay gang," Lina started. "So, let's say this chest _did_ belong to the Payne family and that they _were_ on their way to Ralteague from Seyruun. The main question is: why cast a complex lock spell on something filled with nothing but literature?"

"Someone was really possessive of their personal belongings?" Gourry suggested.

"Maybe the book is a rare edition," Amelia offered.

"It's fairly plausible," Zelgadis reasoned.

Lina twisted her mouth to the side in thought. After a short, pause her eyes watched the free-flowing tide of curtains before the patio doors. "I'm not sure how without taking a closer look at the context but… We also need to figure out why the Payne family was going to Ralteague from Seyruun and why they brought the chest with them."

"Well, I know that the Ralteague royal family had dealings with Sir Gilliame Payne," Amelia said. "But I'm not sure to what extent those visits consisted of."

"That's why I intended on speaking with Phil," Zelgadis insisted. He was still sore about that. His plans, after all, had gone awry no thanks to the marchioness.

Lina cupped her chin in her hand, its matching elbow cradled in the crater of her opposite hand. "It's a logical route, however… For right now, I think we should hold off on telling or asking Phil anything about the book or the Payne family."

Zelgadis cocked a rocky eyebrow. "For what reason?"

Lina's eyes hardened. "Think. Phil's in a difficult political position with Ralteague, right? In theory, if we have something that might be the object of dealings with Ralteague, then we could very well have stolen property. And we all know Phil's a 'do the right thing' sort of guy. Not only that, but we don't want to give Ralteague a reason for going after Seyruun. So, because of that, I don't think we should say anything to Phil until we know for certain what we're dealing with here."

Zelgadis's eager tongue fell flat. He nodded. For once, his mind exerted gratefulness that someone thought ahead of him. He would not dispute Lina's argument. She made a valid point (as she often did), and in his own depth of self-interest, perhaps the book contained an answer for him. He decided, it was best for him to find out himself and be faced with foretold disappointment, then to have the chance ripped out from his longing aching fingers without any opportunity at all.

"Don't forget the missing cows, the ice cream recipe, or Prince Derek coming either," Gourry mentioned, as Lina had not brought up those keen events herself.

The sorceress stopped in her tracks and gave a confirmative nod. "That we _can't _forget. You know, it was smart of Phil to accept his letter. Yesterday, Prince Derek claimed he had no interest in courting Amelia; yet this morning we get a letter stating the exact opposite."

"He said that?" Amelia blinked. "I wonder why. As far as I recall, we've never even met."

"I wouldn't take it personally," Lina waved. "But evidently, something changed. And you can bet that King Henry had something do with it. And I'm positive Phil's thinking on the exact same line."

Amelia's expression contorted. A minimal crease drew a line across her forehead like sand to a stick. Her mouth opened with a little tremble as her voice rose a shrill octave. "You mean, Daddy's only inviting him just to spy?"

Lina's eyes dashed to the side, scratching her chin with a nervous tickle against her throat. "Well, Phil never said that directly but uh, he did state just yesterday if the opportunity arose..."

Strangely, Amelia's alarmed eyes softened, the tension throughout her muscles reducing. A wash of relief eased her confidence. Daddy hadn't gone mad about suitors like Grandmother had. His acceptance of an invitation from the prince was nothing more than a political strategy. Perhaps a bit too sneaky, one in which she normally would not agree with… But Daddy's feelings regarding her fate had not changed.

"I see," Amelia eventually said with a slow nod. "Ralteague has been awfully keen on getting their share of the land. I've got an upcoming meeting with the prince about it. But I'm not sure what a land dispute has to do with this book."

"I'm not sure if they're connected either," Lina admitted. "But if Prince Derek is now a suitor, then _maybe_ Amelia, you could get some information out of him about the Payne family. Nonchalantly, of course."

"I don't really know him though, Miss Lina."

"Yeah well, you'll get to know him," she replied with another dismissive wave of her hand. "I mean, that's what this whole hoopla is about anyway, isn't it?"

Blinks rampaged between the princess's eyelids. How ingenious! To use the suitors' visitation as a means of unraveling this mystery had yet to cross her mind. Well, at least the prince of Ralteague. However, that was more than an engaging distraction from the talk of potential unions, courting activities, and swarms of exotic bouquets. Indeed, despite that such arrangements often carried symbols of chauvinism and belittling of the liberated woman her brains could be of use! That would show Grandmother!

"I suppose you're right, Miss Lina." Amelia found herself releasing a broad smile. Her uncontainable glee pulsed and shot through her fingertips, striking one of her typical heroic poses. "For the cause of justice, I will do what I can to fish for information from the prince!— as honestly as I can, of course," she sweatdropped with a weakened toothy smile.

Zelgadis sighed inwardly at this, the lines of his lips tightening with crossed arms. "This is all well and good, but what about in the meantime?" he nagged. "There's nothing to go by. We don't even have a name for the author."

"I think it's safe to assume this book was either owned or made by Sir Gilliame Payne," Lina answered, her index finger poking repeatedly at the cover. "After all, what was he known for?"

Gourry raised his arm to be called on for permission, his legs in a lattice formation. Lina stifled a silly grin. In that moment, as he waited for his name to be called upon, he truly embraced his kid at heart demeanor. She nodded for him to answer.

The swordsman smiled proudly to himself. "Armor."

"_And_?" she encouraged.

"Shields."

"Gourry!" Utilizing the book, a swift smack to the back of the head sent him toppling down. Lina placed her hands on her hips, lecturing him above his sprawled body on the floor. "I told you, the guy was known for collecting valuable spell books! Some suggest he even made up his own! Don't you remember anything, you moldy brained zombie?"

"But the book is filled with nothing but poems," Amelia corrected.

Normally, another round of book thumping would have been called into action. However, a quick snap of the fingers sprung the sorceress's lips upward with a joyous proclamation. "That's it! Perhaps poems to the average eye, but I bet if we decipher them, we may uncover a secret message— or even spells!"

The tips of Zelgadis's elongated ears pricked. Spells… Lina's reasoning held a promising outlook, based on rumors surrounding the Payne family's mysterious doings. It also reaffirmed that his initial hope had yet to be completely extinguished. His mind went back in time to that night. A flutter coursed through his stomach. He smelled the strange sweet scent of the night air, the thick gloppy mud caking his fingernails, and the striking of his sword against the darkness's trickery… He knew he was alone in those woods. Yet now, he wondered if something was calling him to that sunken chest…

"If he was conducting an underground business, then it's plausible to assume the spells within his books were disguised in case of theft," Zelgadis finally said, verbalizing the pros to this newfound of hopefulness.

Lina nodded. "Exactly, Zel!"

"But how are we going to figure out if these poems are actual spells?" Gourry asked. He had finally found the strength to sit up and rub his sore head.

Lina paused then drooped. "I haven't gotten that far. I guess we'll just have to start reading and see what we come up with."

"Word association might be of use," Zelgadis suggested. "Or onomatopoeia."

"Onomatwhat?" Gourry repeated.

Lina gave a heavy sigh. "Man, we've got a long night ahead of us."

"You've still got to make the invitations smell good too," Gourry reminded.

Like that was ever going to happen.

"Phil can worry about that." She settled her eyes on the book. "My time is better spent here."


	8. Fortuity

**Author's Note: **Hello, everyone! :) I can't believe we are finally at the end of summer. Seemed like forever to me! I am anxious for fall; time for pumpkins, chai teas, infinity scarves, scary stories, and hopefully, more time to write! :)

Thank you all, for another time, for waiting patiently for the next installment. This chapter had been worked on scene by scene since chapter seven's publication. I don't have a good excuse for why this took so long to post, other than life's usual mishaps, and that this chapter had been scrapped and redone at least twice. lol

I would also like to give another big shoutout to MrsTolan! Thank you, as always, for your kind reviews and support! It means a lot to hear that this story has brought you some comfort during a difficult stage in your pregnancy (though I am so sorry to hear you were sent to the hospital). I hope you are feeling much better! I would also like to say congratulations to the birth of your son and sincerely wish you all the best health and happiness! :)

Now, onto chapter eight! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 8

**Fortuity **

One week became two weeks and so, September days faded, and October rang in.

Autumn had arrived.

With Vonzelle at the helm, preparations went beyond their usual level of expectations. Impeccable could not begin to describe the new state of the castle corridors. No. Transcendent suited it dutifully. The new state of the palace was imaginable to what its former self looked like before the first royals made their home.

Knuckle-white hands and aching feet slaved from the kiss of sunlight to blackness of night. Candles had exhausted themselves of wax and lighting spells grew dimmer like their beings' energy. The floors shone slick like river stones, mirrors glistened like ice, and long unoccupied guest rooms were freed of unwanted houseguests of cobwebs and dust bunnies bundled in the ceiling and floor corners. Not to mention, each of the suitor's private guest rooms was refreshed with new linen bed sheets, complimentary linen towels, olive oil soap, and dried rosemary sachets tucked into empty awaiting drawers. At the end of each grueling day, gripes and moans consoled in unison. Philionel, and even his father and his father before him, had never taken severe diligence in pristine or, more so, _obsessive_ housekeeping.

Every scrub, scrape, sweep, and shuffle carried a melody of diligence and mania that rang of the suitors' impending arrival. It was any wonder that the palace staff had yet to break out into a full-fledged musical. Those on the bottom floor being the thundering altos and those, high above in the towers, the shrieking sopranos. If their golden-tongued chaos vocalized, the chorus would sound something like: _The suitors are coming, the princess will marry, the suitors are coming, the city is merry— Time to throw a ball! _

The arrangements for the suitors and the ball kept Phil's time occupied. From the kitchen to the courtyard he followed behind his short yet dominating mother-in-law, canvasing over every single detail. Signature dishes of the suitor's countries were made and sampled. When standards failed to be met between aged lips, portions that would feed families were well, given to families. Perfectly good sweet potatoes, pumpkins, squash, and roasted quail did not deserve to be wasted in Phil's eye. His mother-in-law may have believed the compost was a worthy final resting place for 'flawed' flavors, but he conceded that struggling families would careless of the slightest runny texture or overindulgence in spices. Though his input was considered far and few in between her opinions, the least he could assert was to ensure his people were given free meals.

Amelia, on the other hand, had little to no input and certainly no assertion. After the debacle in the Solar, Vonzelle kept her on edge through mental manipulation of short, curt, and indignant replies. If the princess's back and shoulders were not restrained from leaning forward during a refresher on table etiquette, an unseemingly innocent weapon known as a tape measure, at the hands of the royal dressmaker, was pressed down onto her abundant bust. Amelia had lost count on the hours spent enslaved as her grandmother's doll, listening to rules of manners in which she already knew and blasé conversations to practice about the weather and good health. And if she wasn't being forced to play dress up, she was either whisked away into the legislative chambers or drowning in paperwork. When the night air blew into her patio doors, she checked off another grueling day on her almanac and crashed into her downy pillows. And each time, the sun always came up too soon.

The day before the suitors' arrival, against the setting sun, Amelia and Phil strolled the orange leaf-littered path of the garden. It had been days since the father-daughter duo had a moment of privacy and the princess longed for a presence of peace.

A swish of wind nibbled and teased Amelia's skin. She drew her coat close to her chest, hands shoving themselves down in deep wooly pockets. There, her righthand fingers felt a piece of parchment, a reminder of her other dilemma. In recent days, she received a letter from Prince Derek. His impending efforts to court her left the unresolved matter of the land dispute a sizeable test than she initially believed. She tried to drown out her imploding fears at the crackle of decaying leaves crunching under her heels, but the texture of the parchment commenced an echoing of its words.

_Her Royal Highness, The Princess of Seyruun_

_Madam, _

_Despite my amiable intentions of courtship, hope still stands in which Ralteague and Seyruun may come to an agreement regarding the division of disputed land. I would be most obliged to have a private audience with you to discuss the matter in full. Crown Prince Philionel has informed me of your plans and to reach a peaceful and unified decision, I request that I may hear your intentions regarding the development of the land. I assert this with the best interest of both our countries in mind. _

_I will be arriving on the thirty-first of October, twelve o'clock sharp as instructed by his royal majesty. Upon my arrival, you may select a time in which such a meeting can take place. Until then, I look forward to the intended luncheon and proceedings of the ball. _

_Your Highness's most humble and obedient servant, _

_Prince Derek of Ralteague_

Initially, she read the letter over once, then twice, then finally, for the third time. Between the lines, Amelia searched for a telling. She recognized a sense of both carefulness and tactfulness in his vocabulary. Polite but evident assertion. The land dispute remained front and center while the courtship an afterthought. If anything, she read of disinterest. Perhaps if she could settle on the division of land, it would be enough for him to leave on his own accord. It sounded like that would be all it would take. As for the other suitors… well, she would have to figure them out along the way.

"I thought a little fresh air might do us both some good before our guests arrive," Phil said, his arm looped around hers. "You've been cooped up with Miss Lina and the others in the library for days now."

Amelia broke from her stupor at her father's observation. "Oh, that?" she blinked, eyes straying away from the pathway. "We're just doing some— research."

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Amelia," he said with a wink. "But if you intend on hiding from your grandmother, I suggest somewhere less accessible to her."

"Oh, we weren't trying to hide from her," she clarified quickly. "And anyway, I've got too much on my mind right now to worry about what she thinks."

Though they had changed their location of 'research' that week… just in case the marchioness's peeping eyes became too curious for their own good.

Phil paused, halting both sets of feet. He took in the change in his daughter's eyes, the cadence of her tone. His normally bombastic voice softened. "Amelia, I know this suitor business isn't exactly what you had in mind— but I do hope you understand where your grandmother is coming from. And well, me I suppose."

As Amelia fell quiet, the pathway became the preferred spot to stare. Her anxiety transferred onto him, following with a firm reassuring pat against her hand.

"You know, you might enjoy the suitors' company," Phil continued with an encouraging smile. "If anything, you could get their opinions on the big stuff. What's important to you."

Amelia sighed half-heartedly. They regained their steps. "I suppose so. It's a little daunting not knowing what to expect. I mean, I don't know any of them." It would have been nice to have prior knowledge of their personalities, so she could have mentally prepared herself.

Phil peered down at her with a shake of his head. "That's not entirely true. You know Prince Derek."

Another sigh fell. "A letter is—"

"I meant you've met him before."

Amelia's eyebrows creased as she looked to her father. "When? I don't remember."

"He and his family visited our castle quite some time ago. It was... Hmm." He paused for a moment, stroking his chin as he lamented. "I don't know. When you were about four... or five."

Amelia gaped. "You want a man to court me who I haven't seen since I was four or five? How old was he?"

"Oh, ten. Eleven."

She dove into the deepest recesses of her memory of this long-lost visit. There, she found a faint obscure vision of a visiting king who occupied her father's time greatly and a queen who took her luncheons with her mother on the terrace of a castle level. Then, she recalled an older, much taller, much stronger boy, young man to be precise, who dove nose-first into the grass, walloped by her older sister for God knows what. Regardless, he probably deserved it. But a boy, oh, ten or eleven… She remembered crying. Crying among a pile of fallen sepia feathers. And then, her tears, dripping nose, and whimpers were swept away by sweet-scented handpicked flowers. A gesture of condolences perhaps? From the royal gardens! Amelia felt a rush of excitement from the recollection. Could it have been from him? She closed her eyes in hopes of conjuring a recognizable face. Alas, she couldn't find one.

"What was he like?" Amelia finally asked. "Then I mean."

"He was a very nice boy. Quiet, well mannered, but inquisitive. I remember he loved to explore the garden— particularly the fishpond we had," he added with a light chuckle.

Amelia smiled at the retelling of youthful innocence. "And now?" she broached.

"He's very— determined."

Her brightened expression dimmed with slumped shoulders and darkened eyes. She blamed herself for carrying an ounce of hope, only for it to be desecrated by the influential corruption of age. What was the use? She already decided she wouldn't love the prince or any of the other bachelors. But for someone who conceived joy in the smallest of things, who sought for light despite the darkest of times, found herself exhausted and now frustrated that she could not pull herself away from the raincloud that had been stalking her the last month. Somehow, someway, Amelia wished to recognize the silver lining in all of this.

Phil's hand rested and rubbed his daughter's shoulder with familial ease. "Don't feel down, kumquat. I'm sure everything will go over just fine!" he said, egging her to proceed with their stroll. "Besides, Prince Derek isn't the only one you'll get to meet. Someone else could easily suit your fancy. You know, I was a little nervous myself when your mother came to visit for the first time."

Amelia perked. "You were?"

"Very much. So much that I came in with my clothes on inside out! Hahaha!" he laughed at his own memory of discomfiture. "But your mother could have cared less! When she smiled at me, right at that moment, I knew she was the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

A smile made falling in love sound so simple. Falling in love with _the_ _chosen_ ideal political candidate made life seem like a breeze. Fate may have been on her parents' side, but it had yet to shine its blessing rays onto the princess.

"I don't think it'll be that easy for me," she confessed, her voice lacking strength.

Phil lowered his eyebrows, holding back a heavy tired sigh. "Amelia, please do try to make the best of it," he urged. "A heart of a hero must strive even through the toughest of battles! You'll see when they get here. It won't be so bad. And if you need anything, you know I'll be right there the entire time."

His large fingers captured her small chin, swiveling her gaze to meet his. He witnessed the cloudiness in her eyes. In that moment, Phil wished he could sweep all his precious daughter's grievances away. That the fairytales he told her before bedtime could come true and that princesses could marry whomever they wished. But reality was far from kind. Orchestrating a leading nation, one that brought peace to its people and neighboring countries, could not be compromised. Even if it meant personal sacrifice for all.

Phil held onto his daughter's chin, not ready to fully shatter her sheltered world. Instead, he offered her a different truth.

"Why with your genuinely kind heart and your mother's smile, I don't see how someone couldn't love you."

* * *

The library proved to be less than private quarters.

Acknowledging the pattern of a cane hitting the floor outside the library doors during specific hours of the day, Lina's vulpine nature led them back to Zelgadis's rooms. No one ever entered, aside from his personal servant, Ernoldous, who attended only to his duties and never conversed in frivolous discussion. Not only that, but it was a place in which Vonzelle would never look. The last thing any of them wanted, was for the shrewd old woman to take interest in the peculiar draw a book had among four young adults.

Lina had stopped counting the hours (or more so _lost_ count) spent examining the book's collection of poems. As Amelia's time was monopolized, the reading was conducted by Lina and Zelgadis, with Gourry's assistance whenever he proved useful.

That evening, they were on the eighth poem of the day and hope had yet to shine a light through their translucent efforts.

Reprieving her dreary eyes and splitting head, Lina situated herself atop Zelgadis's scant pillows, reclining at the head of his bed. Zelgadis sat in his exceptionally hard wooden chair, concentrating solely on the book. At all times, he kept a stack of parchment. Lines of selected words and inky scribbles covered several pages, and when they proved to be of little use, they became crumpled balls heading straight into his trash bin. Concentrating, he tapped the head of the feather close to his lips, the tip of the feather fluttering below his nose. Gourry watched from the sides, mesmerized. Then, out of fixation, conjured the urge to sneeze.

A platter of grapes, brie cheese, and wheat crackers sat on Zelgadis's nightstand, which Lina requested a servant to bring. If they were going to be locked up working into the evening hours, then decent brain food was a top priority.

"Did you see all the decorations in the ballroom? And better yet, _the food_ in the kitchens?" Lina said, popping a red grape into her mouth. Food always did its wonders when it came to tensions of the mind.

Zelgadis didn't respond, still focused on the task at hand.

Gourry beamed up at the sorceress. "I didn't see the food, but I could smell it down the hall."

"It was agonizing to sit and watch Phil and Amelia's grandma sample it," Lina said, chewing another handful of grapes. She swallowed. "They didn't even have the decency to offer_ any _to me. I mean, we're part of the guest list after all! It wouldn't have hurt to have an exclusive sneak peek if they were after honest feedback."

"If you sampled, then there would be nothing left for anyone else to try," Zelgadis remarked, his eyes narrowing in on a selection of keywords.

Lina sat up and scowled. "Don't be smart. If I'm looking forward to anything about this ball, it's the food and the dress. If the Seyruun royal family is picking up the tab for me to get a gown of my own, then I can't complain."

Zelgadis held back a snort. Yes, Lina would have a dress of her own. Never mind, he thought, on what other occasions would she have to wear such an expensive garment. When he thought about the said garment, he closed his eyes and shuttered. "Please tell me you didn't choose green… or pink."

She narrowed in on the back of his head. "Since when are you a fashionista?"

"I'm not," he answered, matching the strength of her indignant tone. "But I do know a thing or two about complementary colors."

"Well, relax," she snapped. "Amelia said she's wearing pink and I'm not stupid enough to choose green. I mean, the last thing I want to look like is a leprechaun or something."

"So, what did you choose?" Gourry asked.

"That's a surprise!" she winked with a playful grin.

With a bounce, Lina bounded over to Zelgadis. Leaning over his stiff shoulder, she examined the contents of his writings. It looked promising.

"So, ya figured anything out yet, Zel?" she asked.

"Perhaps." He picked up the parchment, holding it at eye level as he adjusted his throat. "How does this sound? By night the darkness calls, by day the sunlight listens. Oh, eternal abyss, grant me the strength and wisdom within the bosom of your secrets. Make your power known here and now," he said, reading the lines as if he was reciting an incantation.

"_Bosom_? That sounds worse than the last one," Gourry commented, flicking a long glistening peacock feather above a dazzled Gingersnap's head.

The parchment wrinkled under Zelgadis's strong gripped fist. "I don't see anyone else trying. It's not that easy to dissect spells with nothing to go from," he griped, tossing the scribbled paper aside. He needn't been told it was gobbledygook.

He collapsed his stony check against his equally stony hand, staring out into the darkening gardens. Lina studied the back of his head. She had seen him do this before. The gloomy raincloud, that perpetually followed him everywhere had returned with thunder on the horizon.

The sorceress patted his shoulder with a small smile. "Don't feel too bad, Zel. If this were easy, then there really would be no point in concealing the spells or magically locking them in the first place."

He peeled away from the window, removing himself entirely from the chair and her friendly gesture. "Normally, I would agree. At this point, however, I'm starting to think we're on a wild goose chase based on nothing but a flimflam theory." He walked a short distance before twirling to face her with a heavy sigh. "We've been at this for nearly a _month_. We've tried several different interpretations, and nothing seems to be working."

He grimaced at the thought. Another dead end. Memories, sensations of his past failures rushed upstream, flowing from his head to his heart. He sulked under the intensity of another disheartening path.

"It's hopeless," Zelgadis breathed. "For all we know, this is just what it is: a book of poems."

Before Lina could interject, a loud squeak erupted from the door. The sorceress turned and sighed, smiling at the positive presence radiating into the room. Perhaps she could work a miracle and scare Zelgadis's rain cloud back into the sky.

"Oh, hey Amelia," Lina greeted. "How did it go with your dad?"

"Okay," Amelia replied, closing the door behind her. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "It's a little cold out there, but I think the fresh air helped. So, did you guys find any clues that might lead us to a spell?"

"Not one," Zelgadis answered for all. His forehead wrinkled and his lower rocky brows rubbed against each other. "As far as I'm concerned, we should just call it quits. I don't see the point in toying with this theory any longer."

"And I'm telling you it's too soon to give up," Lina argued, wagging her finger. "These things take time. _Believe_ me. If I thought this was a waste of time, I would have quit weeks ago. Remember, _I'm_ the one with the experience when it comes to rare magical items.

"Besides," she continued. "We haven't even finished going through the entire book yet and there's still a chance to—"

"Maybe you don't mind wasting your time, but I do," Zelgadis snapped, whipping around. "We're already well past the halfway point. I don't see how finishing the damn book will amount to anything." He stared past the frowning sorceress, glowering at the book. His face tightened. "It was a ridiculous notion to entertain, to begin with."

"Well, I'd like to give it a try," Amelia interjected.

Zelgadis met her innocent gaze. "Be my guest," he gestured with his hand.

Unnoticed to the grouchy chimera, Lina gave a sharp glare before proceeding to the door. She stopped at the doorknob, stretching her arms above her head with her final parting words. "Let me know if you come up with anything, Amelia," she said, now gripping the doorknob. "I'm pretty bushed so I think I'm just gonna head for bed. But _I'll_ still look through the book myself."

Gourry yawned, then proceeded to rub his right eye. "Me too." He rose to his feet, dusting off stray strands of kaleidoscope colored cat hair, now floating in the air. "Snickerdoodle really wore me out with that peacock feather."

"Uh, okay," Amelia said, now holding the book. "Well, goodnight Miss Lina. Goodnight, Mister Gourry."

Once the door clicked shut, Amelia and Zelgadis exchanged looks.

"Snickerdoodle?" Amelia repeated, cocking an eyebrow.

Zelgadis rolled his eyes. "He meant Gingersnap."

Amelia nodded slowly. "Ah."

"I'm going to change for bed," he said flatly.

"Well, don't mind me. I'm just going to sit here and look this over."

Zelgadis paused and turned sharply on his heel. Over his shoulders, his eyes widened. Amelia had made herself at home, planting herself on the edge of his bed. With one foot, she proceeded to pry one heel off, then used the newly bare foot to free the other. Heels kicked to the side, she sat crisscross-applesauce with the book nestled in her lap.

"You're staying?" he asked. He thought she'd take her business elsewhere. Like, oh, he didn't know, her own bedroom.

Cobalt eyes flashed up at him with a shrug. She placed a small decorative pillow behind her to support her back. "If that's all right with you. I mean, two heads are better than one after all!"

* * *

After Zelgadis returned in freshly laundered pajamas, he retracted his decision to enforce Amelia's departure.

She kept a constant pensive stare on the open book, dismissing his entry altogether, even when his shadow cast itself above her. As she skimmed to the next page, her upper body arched forward. Zelgadis's lips quirked with a comical smirk. She behaved as if leaning forward would somehow unravel the mystery of the book's nonsensical writings.

A few minutes had passed, and Amelia flipped to the next page in the book. A coiled fist rested against one thoughtful cheek, supported by her elbow resting on a toned thigh. There were several verses about animals and comparisons of human behavior. As if the readings told of people's choices.

Her finger landed on a specific line. "I wonder what this means?" she mused.

Zelgadis grabbed a pair of wool socks from the top drawer of his dresser. "Nonsense," he snorted, slamming the drawer shut with a shrill squeak. He glanced over his shoulder to find Amelia diverting from his gaze. He sighed and looked at his bare blue feet. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay."

He didn't need to explain himself to her. She had seen him act like this before. When a promising answer for his cure could not be given, he turned to cynicism. After several failed ventures, Amelia did not blame him. She tried to imagine his disappointment and often felt riddled with mourning. Losing who you once were… She struggled with the idea, and so, she felt even more determined to help.

As Amelia scrutinized the writings, her rightfully tired mind wavered. Her forehead wrinkled and then, suddenly, she released a frustrating wince. She proceeded to close her eyes and rub her tight temple. "I don't know why, but I feel this strange energy…"

"From the book?" he concluded. Zelgadis knew of Amelia's priestess training. He wondered if she picked on something he and the others could not.

"I'm not sure," she said.

"I wouldn't read too much into it," he assured, pulling his socks up over his feet. "That book is nothing but a headache. And a senseless one at that. Whoever wrote it, probably intended to make someone go mad."

Amelia glanced down at the book then back at Zelgadis. She picked up on the undercurrent of disdain in his voice and braced herself. "This must be frustrating, isn't it?"

Zelgadis perked at her presumed conclusion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean because you still haven't given up hope for your cure," she explained. "I know it took a lot for you to come around to trying again."

Zelgadis sat on the opposite edge of the bed, gripping the comforter. His eyes cast onto the glare of the moon, glowing its milky beam onto the wooden floor. It had been over a year since the debacle with the Hellmaster's jar and the voice, the soul that confessed the unthinkable… The reality Zelgadis became too overwrought to accept. And now, the lack of results from the book confirmed that reality all over again.

Zelgadis swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to shudder at the aching reminder. "I know Rezo said he had no knowledge of reversing the transformation… But yes." His voice grew stronger. "I'm still not ready to give up yet. There must be an answer. Somewhere."

A small smile reached Amelia's eyes, baring a bright glow. "That's brave of you."

Zelgadis laughed coldly. "I wouldn't call it brave. Excepting my fate would make me brave. I'm more stubborn than anything."

"But that alone makes you brave," Amelia insisted. "Not many people are willing to admit their shortcomings— Not that I think wanting your cure is a shortcoming," she clarified hastily. "You know what you want, and you go after it. No matter what the outcome may be, you still give it your all. I wish I could be that bold."

Zelgadis never thought of it that way. He supposed, after one disappointment, one would get used to the stinging punch of each failure thereafter. The more he thought about it, the more it made him feel foolish rather than brave. But Amelia was an optimist, so naturally, she found the good in his dogged, sometimes self-destructive obsession with his cure. He, however, did have one thing to refute: Amelia not considering herself as bold. Based, on the superfluity of hero poses and righteous speeches she carried, heedless to how silly she appeared even in the face of malicious danger, he could counterargue.

Zelgadis observed the shift in her expression as her eyes fell back onto the book in silence. "Amelia," he started slowly, "are you alluding to something?"

"Oh, no." She shook her head, eventually smiling and chuckling to herself. "I'm not making much sense, am I? I think I'm just tired that's all."

Amelia wasn't the type of person who found pleasure in unloading her burdens onto to others. The person who sat by and listened attentively, without judgment or unwanted advice, would better describe her uplifting self. But no human could bottle their plights without a soundboard to bounce off. So, was she dismissing her feelings so that she may not make them someone else's concern? Zelgadis could not write off his intuition. Not that he really cared to pry into other's personal business… People's griping tended to leave him irritable and with short, direct, and less than kind advice. But Amelia was his friend. She always took interest in his wallowing, despite its repetitive nature. The least he could, as unnatural as it was for him, was to try to care.

"Amelia?" he called out.

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

Amelia's eyes widened at his blatancy. She looked up at him then dismissively ventured back to the text. "What gave you that impression?"

"You've just seem… off as of late," he explained. "Like you're distracting yourself on purpose."

Amelia shot back up and shook her head with forced enthusiasm. "Oh, no! I _really_ do want to help—"

"I don't doubt that," he interrupted with the ease of a raised hand. "It's just… I've noticed you've been making that face recently."

Amelia blinked. "What face?"

He stifled a dry snicker. If only he supplied her with a handheld mirror. "The one where your eyebrows draw closer together and your bottom lip sticks out."

"Oh." Withdrawn, Amelia's voice fell quiet, as if knowing the expression in which he so specifically described. "I guess I haven't been good at concealing my feelings as of late." She set the book aside, curving her knees sideways, as to make herself more comfortable. For a few seconds, she struggled to come around eventually saying, "It's nothing really. It's just…" A heavy sigh fell. "I'm starting to wonder if Daddy really believes I'll fall in love with one of the suitors."

His rocky eyebrows squished together. "Why would you think that?"

"Because that's what happened with, he and my mom."

Zelgadis gawked. "Your parents' marriage was _arranged_?" Given how unorthodox of a prince Phil was, Zelgadis imagined he married for romantic inclinations rather than political gain.

"It was set up between my grandfathers," Amelia expanded. "They shared similar political viewpoints and were advocates of each other's rulings. So naturally, my mom's parents wanted their only daughter married off to a prince of their country. But they got lucky," she smiled. "Daddy's one of a kind. He's not like most princes."

Zelgadis huffed inwardly._ You could say that again. _

"He always put my mom and his family's needs first. If he were like most noblemen, I don't think I would be the person I am today.

"And it's not that I want to believe all noblemen are the same," she continued. "It's just— hard when you've met so many who are practically identical to each other. Then again, I think I'm pretty different compared to most noblewomen I've met. So, I guess I should at least try to make friends."

Different didn't begin to describe Amelia. He would not dispute that claim, since Zelgadis never met another princess who did not mind, no, rather, found _enjoyment_ in climbing death-defying heights, partaking in harrowing adventures, and pummeling bad guys by use of her own strength; all for the sake of love and justice while still being feminine with a dash of sophisticated class. With that kind of spirit, typical noblemen would see her as a friend… or threat. It would be to Amelia's benefit, Zelgadis reasoned. She already declared she would not marry outside of love, so perhaps, she could fend them off with her independence.

"I suppose that's all you can do," Zelgadis replied. "This is more for your grandmother than _you_ after all."

"It's really starting to feel that way," Amelia sighed. "Just this last week, she lined up all these courting activities."

"Like what?"

"Oh, typical stuff. Walks, horseback riding, croquet, jousting—"

"Jousting?" He arched an eyebrow. A small smile escaped from the corner of his lip. He could just imagine. "Are you participating?"

Amelia's shoulders slumped. "I wish. She's going to have me sit from the sidelines and watch."

"I don't see how any of them winning a contest or game is going to prove anything."

Whoever made up courting events, they apparently harbored primeval beliefs. Amelia may have been a hopeless romantic, but she was not an empty-headed maiden who marveled at brute strength and factored its primitive charm into such a _major_ commitment as marriage. Zelgadis wouldn't have been surprised if she took it upon herself to dress in armor and vie for her own hand.

"It doesn't but it's expected," Amelia said. Her focus tilted downward. "It makes me feel like I'm some object to win…"

The slackness in her face, the softness in her voice, and pained eyes ignited a spark in Zelgadis. From firsthand experience, he knew what it felt like to be treated like a _thing_. A monster. He recalled the heavy dull pain in his body and the blossoming insecurity that made him squirm beneath his skin when scrutinizing eyes gawked in horror at his appearance. But in Amelia's respect, he could not comprehend the toll of being viewed as nothing more than a prize.

The more he thought about, the more he realized no one really acknowledged the demoralizing self-worth a woman in Amelia's situation would have experienced. Here she was, a woman who held an immense amount of governing power and still, she could not, _would not_, be deemed an equal to her male counterpart.

Fueled by empathy he found himself leaning forward. His hand hesitated to move towards hers, but the words from his lips did not. "You're more than that," he said simply.

The words came out so slowly, so quietly, he amazed himself. So much, he stunned himself to the point where movement became impossible. He stared blankly at Amelia whose tears began to evaporate. She looked to him in wonderment.

His mind raced in horror unable to keep pace with the swirling thoughts circling around him like vultures to their sun-scorched prey. Luckily, he regained his mobility and adjusted his throat, nonchalantly shifting. "Has your father said anymore about the cows disappearing from the Sutton farm?"

The topic appeared to break Amelia from her trance. "That's the funny thing," she started, now redirecting her attention. "Daddy's been sending guards to check in with Mister Sutton; and ever since he mailed out the invitations for the suitors, they suddenly stopped disappearing. Miss Lina thinks it's suspicious. But I suppose it's one less thing to worry about in the scheme of things."

"I wouldn't say that just yet," Zelgadis warned. "If that's the case, then any suspicions about King Henry may very well be verified. Think of it this way: with his son's inquisition being accepted, the king may theorize there is no reason to further steal the cows."

"Inquisition?" she echoed.

"If he thinks his son will convince you to marry him," Zelgadis illuminated. "Your father has already accepted the prince's request, right? Regardless if Phil considers this Prince Derek, a serious choice or not, that still gives King Henry reason to believe his son could become the next king of Seyruun. If you accepted the prince's proposal, he'll not only get his fair share of the land for his country, but he'll reap the benefits off Seyruun's economic successes and riches too. This is nothing more than a power struggle."

Amelia sat by quietly, soaking in his words. If the prince had thought this through, he could easily argue that a union between the two kingdoms would ideally resolve any contestation regarding the land's legal ownership. And it wasn't as if Seyruun had not benefited from Ralteague before. For years, the monarchy used Ralteague's famous ports not only for their oversea trades, but also to journey to the Outer World when the monster's barrier had been broken. Joining forces by marriage would not only bridge a gap between their said differences but would provide allies against any shared foes. Other countries had done so, why not they?

It would be a marriage of convenience and that never considered the heart. That was the trouble really…. And to make matters worse, presenting a proposal with political practicality would be arduous to refuse. Amelia blanched at the thought. She had nothing to fall back on, other than her father and his father did not see eye to eye. But that was minute when looking at the entire picture.

But even so, Amelia wouldn't be intimidated into submission. She sat with squared shoulders, holding her chin high. "Well, King Henry can think again. We won't be so easily manipulated by someone who has evil ulterior motives! I'll find out for myself once Prince Derek and I have our meeting. I'm _nobody's_ fool."

"About that. Amelia, I—" Zelgadis stopped midway. He had been thinking about this for a while and now he was rethinking of even saying it. Then, it just came out. "I believe it would be best if I were present during the meeting."

Amelia's eyebrows lowered. "But Prince Derek asked for a private audience."

Zelgadis made a face. "So what? You're about to meet with a delegate from a kingdom that isn't on the best of terms with Seyruun. If he thinks he's going to court you on top of that, then this Prince Derek has no grounds to request a private audience. It would be highly inappropriate given the circumstances. It's basic protocol."

Amelia processed his argument, breaking it up bit by bit. It took her a good minute before Zelgadis's implication dawned on her. Her eyes widened. "Mister Zelgadis, are you saying— do you _think _he'll try to take _advantage_ of me?" she balked, her cheeks flushed.

"Well, we don't really know him so we can't trust him," he shrugged, doing his best to appear halfheartedly concerned. "Remember, he's not only coming to persuade you for land, but he also intends to marry you. It's a win-win for this… merger of theirs."

"You know, I can handle myself just fine," Amelia reminded.

"I do not doubt your capabilities of self-defense, Amelia."

_God knows I've been on the receiving end_.

Then again, there were times where she got herself roped into trouble despite her best efforts. Oh, like, for example, when he worked for the kingdom of Xoana, and much to the awkwardness of it all, they were considered enemies. There, amidst one of her zealous proclamations, she _literally_ was roped into a trap! That instance spoke for itself.

"As your bodyguard, it would be irresponsible of me to leave you alone with him," he contested. "Your father mentioned the prince is a magic user, swordsman, and has had military training. And he said…"

Amelia blinked as he left her in suspense. "And he said what?"

"He said he's 'popular with the ladies'," Zelgadis answered, sounding strangled.

Every facial muscle of Amelia's relaxed. The anticipating tension now free, transformed into both shock and assurance. "Oh, Mister Zelgadis," she breathed. "I'm not going to fall for his charm or wit if that's what you're worried about."

"That's beside the point, Amelia," he countered brusquely. "If I'm knowledgeable about a possible threat, I'm not going to stand by and permit it to happen. With me present, he's less likely to try anything… salacious."

_Possible threat_… Amelia's heart leaped from her stomach. She released a delicate smile, gleeful at the double implication of his word choice. She shouldn't have liked his masculine insecurities, but she couldn't help it. This rare occasion gave way to the underlying affection that was always implied. And now, after countless days, weeks, months, _years_ of patience, perhaps it was the start of a declaration.

Lost in dreamland, Amelia basked and anchored herself in the moment, despite the serious stare coming from the impatient Zelgadis. "Amelia?" he called out. When he got her attention, as glossy as her eyes were, he asked, "Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

"Yes," she inhaled deeply. "I think I do."

* * *

Somehow, in the later hours of the evening, the book found itself shut and deserted.

Zelgadis awoke to find himself on his bed, atop his covers with Amelia sleeping peacefully beside him. His dreary eyes adjusted to the darkness, glancing over to view the shimmering lights flecked across the blackness outside his patio doors. What time was it? After abandoning the book, he and Amelia spent a good hour talking. Not about the suitors or meetings or his cure but things they normally wouldn't have time to ideally chat about. While the topics weren't of the utmost importance it was still well, relatively nice. He couldn't recall the last occasion where her world of decrees, meetings, and paperwork allowed them a moment of peace.

And Zelgadis certainly couldn't recall a moment where they had lain closely to one another. Coming into proximity with anyone, led to the urgency for his body to scoot inches away. He mentally slapped himself on instinct and decided to do so. Yet what he felt between his fingers seduced him to stay. Caught between two lean blue fingers he held a cluster of dark violet hair. Against his skin, he explored the soft voluminous texture of her tresses. Once upon a time, his hair shared similar bouncy waves, riding smoothly through each stroke of a brush. Now he bore a metallic sheen to his wiry bramble-like hair, a sharpness that would easily split the bristle of a brush without hesitation.

Zelgadis stifled a soft moan, clapping his mouth shut. His eyelids closed and crinkled as he devoured the soft floral scent of perfume wafting through his nostrils. He struggled to understand himself; to understand the powerful sensation of Amelia's physique against his own. When he could bear it no longer, he opened his eyes, only to examine the physical beauty that deepened Amelia's inner self. Like the artist at heart, his eyes followed the little ski-jumped slope of her petite nose, the curling of her long dark eyelashes, the pursing of her slightly parted plump lips releasing small puffs of air as she slept. A strange new stirring rose within him. Whispers of primitive urges came on posthaste. The warmth radiating off her forehead enticed him to lean in. However, his better judgment kept him still, despite being lost amid the night's mystical allurement.

_What is wrong with me? _Zelgadis withheld a snort as to not wake the sleeping princess. Far back in the cobwebs of his reluctant heart, he knew what was wrong. The question of _if_ he would admit it was the pressing matter. He adamantly rejected the question and the enrapture he fell prey to.

It was not even fair to Amelia. Here she was unaware and asleep, and he relished this moment of intimacy as if it were something more.

Exhaling through his nostrils, Zelgadis rolled over onto his back. Tomorrow had already been decided for her and _if_ he wanted to… He examined his hand above his head. The blue coloring lost to the night's sky. At that moment, he pretended his skin had turned back to its milky shade. He withheld a snort. His hand crashed back to his side. Dreaming was pointless. He knew the blue would shine by daylight and all the pebbles gracing up his arm and to his face would annihilate his awoken inkling altogether.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

A faint moan escaped from Amelia's lips, her body tightening then shifting. She stirred with a scrunched nose as her blurred eyesight adjusted to her inky surroundings. Hazily, she made out the silhouette of Zelgadis. Slowly, she sat up and massaged her face.

"What time is it?" she murmured.

"Late." Zelgadis swung his feet over the bed. His back faced her. "We fell asleep."

A high pitch gasp soared from her throat. "Oh, no! I have to get to my rooms!"

Amelia leaped from the bed and scrambled up onto her feet. Against the shock of the cold wooden floor, her bare toes were confronted with a rather rude awakening. She winced at the cold touch, her arms enveloping her shivering skin. Then she froze. Frenzied hands patted against the undercarriage of her breasts. The lack of support reminded her of the corset's removal in Zelgadis's water closet, so she could breathe without said torture device digging into her ribs and devouring every breathe she took.

She scolded herself under her breath as she scavenged for her belongings. Zelgadis stood by, sighing at the pitiful sight of Amelia blindly searching while coming up empty handy with only stubbed toes to show for it. For once, he decided to be generous and chanted a lighting spell. The spell was of great aid, as the pulsing ball of light indicated Amelia had passed her kicked off heels twice. She gave him a silly grin as she picked up the heels, found at the legs of the bed.

When she rose back up, Zelgadis stood before her, holding an intimate garment filled with tangled strings and white trimmed lace by a couple of mere fingers.

"Here," he gestured stiffly.

Amelia's heartbeat accelerated as she stared at her undone corset resting in his grasp. Gingerly, she took the corset. "Oh. Uh, thank you." She cast her gaze off to the side, concealing the radiating gleam now proliferating from her cheeks.

Silence consumed the air, each set of eyes dashing away from the other's gaze. Steeped in embarrassment, Amelia's neck compressed itself into her hunched shoulders. Her eyes persisted in their tango of avoidance, eventually settling on the patio doors behind Zelgadis.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her hair and adjusted her throat. "I think I'll just climb out the patio doors—"

"You can't at this hour," Zelgadis said. His voice quieted, ringing with a lower much tender tone. "It's not safe."

"I've done it plenty of times before," she justified.

"Yes, Amelia, but remember, I'm your bodyguard. I can't allow you to risk a limb simply because you have this innate desire to climb."

She bit her lip, turning towards the door. "I guess I'll have to use the hall."

"I should at least escort you to your rooms to ensure you get there safely—"

"I'll be okay," Amelia insisted with ease. "Besides," she started, quieter than before. "I think it might be best if I go on my own." There was no telling who may be snooping around and what conclusions they would draw on their own…

"Well, goodnight then and…. Thank you for your help," he said, the words difficult for him to form.

"I'm sorry it wasn't much," she said, knowing their casual chatter had dominated the pursuit for spells. "I'll take the book with me. I'll try to give it a quick glance before going to bed to make up for falling asleep."

Zelgadis shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's the thought that counts… I mean, that's what you always say."

Despite his hurried half-hearted attempt at a response, Amelia smiled. "Goodnight, Mister Zelgadis."

Once she exited the bedroom, Amelia pressed her back against the door. A slow deep breath emerged from her chest. Her eyes and lips turning upward. A floating sensation claimed her body. For the first time in weeks, she felt light, eased, freed… From the very person she least expected and yet hoped for.

She spent the night with him. Well, if she was going to review the impromptu sleepover honestly, she simply fell asleep with him on the bed after running out of things to talk about. Even so, he trusted her, felt comfortable enough to lay next to her. An accidental baby step but no less a baby step.

When her dreamy state's potency faded, Amelia tiptoed down the hall. She lugged her heels, corset, and the hem of her weighted skirt in her hand while the book stayed balanced in the crook of her arm. She had nothing to hide but she knew if someone discovered her in Zelgadis's quarters at this hour, questions were bound to fly. What she didn't anticipate was to be blinded by a ball of stark light and its formidable chanter standing astute, as if waiting for her.

"Oh!" Amelia stumbled backward. She swallowed, her shoes slipping out of her grip. "Uh- hi, Grandmother Vonzelle! What are you doing up this late?"

Dressed in the most modest and ruffled nightgown, Vonzelle pushed up her glasses as if to better scrutinize her apprehended granddaughter. "I decided to do some light reading before bed."

Amelia peered down at her grandmother's other occupied hand, glimpsing at the title of the book. She wouldn't have put _Seyruun's History: A Time of Philosophy, Peace, and Treaties _in the category of light reading.

"I was surprised to find you absent from the library since you've taken residence amongst the dusty shelves every spare moment you've had," her grandmother said. Her meticulous gaze probing with gesturing eyes. "Unless you found more unsavory entertainment for the evening?"

"Oh, this?" Amelia glanced down at her heels and unlaced corset. She gulped, masking her discomfort with a full grin. "I lost track of time too! I was working on my negotiations for the prince in the Solar. So, I had an idea of what to say during our meeting."

Vonzelle rose an eyebrow. "You need to strip to write out negotiations?"

"The corset was getting uncomfortable, and my feet started to hurt," she answered, perspiring palms rubbing against the slippery texture of her heels.

"Your room is down the opposite hall," Vonzelle pointed out.

"Yes," Amelia replied slowly. Her eyes trailed down the hall. "But um… this hall is faster to the kitchens! For a glass of water. The night air sometimes irritates my throat, you see."

"And you need a book to do so?" she pressed further.

Amelia's heartbeat increased. Time for props. "I thought I would use it to help me practice my balance down the staircase," Amelia declared, holding the book above her head. "You mentioned it needed some work, so I thought why not now?"

Vonzelle watched with an unamused frown, as her granddaughter's upper body teeter tottered to balance the wobbling thick book atop her head.

"I do not think it would be wise to obtain a head injury with the suitors arriving tomorrow," she warned. "No, I shall fetch you a glass of water."

Caught by surprise, the book toppled, falling open onto the floor. Amelia reached down to pick it up, her accessories slipping out of her grasp. "Oh no, you really don't have to—"

"It has never hurt anyone to do a little late-night exercise. Now, off to bed with you," she shooed. "I shan't be long."

As Amelia finished clasping the last button of her nightgown, Vonzelle returned with the requested beverage. She thanked her grandmother and sat the glass on her nightstand before slipping into bed. Amelia thought her grandmother would have made her exit, yet she remained standing by.

There had been no resolve regarding their earlier dispute. Amelia wondered if this was her grandmother's attempt at making up. A stretch by most standards, but the princess could not resist the fault of hope. Her suspicions heightened as Vonzelle stood by the nightstand, eyes darting between the filled glass to her supposedly parched granddaughter. Upon realizing she sat there without bothering to take a sip, Amelia titled the glass to her mouth and swallowed.

She made a satisfying gasp for effect before placing it back down. "Refreshing," she said.

Vonzelle kept a stoic face. "I have yet to see more than a few guards standing watch. I cannot believe Philionel has not tightened security around here. You'd think he'd learn."

Amelia understood what she meant yet kept quiet instead of divulging into the sensitive subject. She regretted her silence, however, as Vonzelle casually grabbed Zelgadis's found book, thumbing through it with objective eyes. Amelia scrutinized the slightest change in her grandmother's expression all while biting at her fingernails. When the repetitive nibbles failed to calm her nerves, she opened her mouth only to clamp it shut. She held back the urge to gesture and speak, reminding herself and raised heartbeat that there was little to no content for her grandmother to be dubious of. The last thing she needed was Vonzelle to take sudden interest into what could be a clue towards unknown spells or even Mister Zelgadis's cure.

"Where did you get this?" Vonzelle asked, examining the rough exterior of the cover. "It appears it has seen better days."

"Just from a friend," Amelia replied.

Wrinkled fingers pursued their exploration of the book, eyes darting from left to right. After a minute or so, Vonzelle placed the book back onto the nightstand. Amelia presumed she'd finally leave, only for her to plant herself at Amelia's covered feet.

"You know," Vonzelle started, "your father used to give your mother little trinkets. He'd give them to her in secret. In my garden, where the climbing roses grow onto the arbor. They spent several hours there together. All alone watching the sunset."

"Sounds very romantic," Amelia said. Her heart lightened at the thought of her parent's romance blossoming under a cliché but often perceived idealistic hideaway.

Vonzelle pursed her lips. "To some. I'm certain he didn't think I was looking, but I knew. I see more than most presume. Comes with the territory of being a noblewoman… and a mother."

"Well, I'm sure you've got a great set of eyes," Amelia grinned, fiddling with her hands.

The longer Vonzelle stayed the tension in Amelia's shoulders intensified. She knew that look. The long steady poker face that dripped with oozing suspicion. Vonzelle had been sleuthing around the corner of the library for weeks, and now she was fishing for information. There was nothing incriminating to hide, about the book _or_ Zelgadis. But Amelia did not believe that gave her the right to invade her privacy. Amelia never cared nor _asked_ for her own personal watchdog.

When her lighting spell dwindled, Vonzelle rose from up off the bed, as if prompting her to retire for the night. "I shouldn't keep you. You must rest," she said, patting Amelia's knee. She then turned away from her granddaughter, commanding another lighting spell as she strolled towards the door. "Tomorrow is an important day. It will be the first step towards your new life."

Grabbing the doorknob, she gave one last look over her shoulder. She breathed deeply through her nostrils at the sight of her drooping granddaughter. The darkness cloaked her aging eyes, but a flicker of a warmer shade of blue crept in. Amelia looked so small in the massive bed. Like the night when Vonzelle found the newly motherless girl, whose comforter was pulled to her chin in fear of a bloody hand coming out of her wardrobe.

She exhaled another sigh. "Do not look so forlorn, Amelia," Vonzelle said, her voice strangely calm. "You'll see. By the end of their visitation, you'll be thanking me. Your mother certainly did. Goodnight, my dear."

Amelia followed the dramatic cast of Vonzelle's shadow against the wall until the lighting spell faded out the door. She sat there in the stillness of the dark with only the casting moonlight as her company.

"Goodnight," she said to no one in particular.

* * *

**A/N Continue:** This chapter turned out to be longer than expected, as mine usually tend to do. Still, I will do my best to keep chapters between 6,000 to 9,000 words so they aren't too arduous to read. In any case, thank you for reading! Chapter nine will FINALLY feature the suitors. And yes, that includes Prince Derek. ;)

Until then, wishing you all to stay safe and healthy during this challenging time and hope everyone has a wonderful start to fall!


	9. Impressions

**Author's Note: **I have surprised myself. I actually finished a chapter in less than a month from my last posting. Okay, barely. lol But still, I am glad to have brought you a chapter sooner than later. Autumn and all its spices, scents, and spooks have given me an extra oomph in writing this story. And with that, the mysterious element is sure to build in each chapter! My intention is to have chapter ten posted on Halloween the day I posted the first chapter of _Troubled Waters_ almost one year ago. Hopefully, that goal can come to fruition!

As always, thank you to everyone for reading and those who have left kind and encouraging reviews. :) This story has been just for pure enjoyment and I'm glad to share it with others. Now, onto chapter nine!

**Disclaimer: **The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, _Funimation_, and _J.C. Staff_. Any original characters belong to me.

* * *

**Troubled Waters**

Chapter 9

**Impressions **

The sun's dim morning rays graced the tips of the Ralteague royal garden.

The castle held its sleeping tenants while the garden chirped with singing crickets, leaves kissed by misty dew. Dressed, Derek made his way out into the dim ghostly light. He strolled to the outskirts of the garden, his boots sloshing against the wettened grass and slimy rotting mushrooms, above where a small waterfall burbled and drowned embedded ebony stones. Carpeted wildflowers, that grew in fertile loamy soil, huddled themselves along a crumbled stone wall blanketed with moss, that bordered the royal's property from the hollow woods beyond.

The temperature had dropped significantly that month, reminding him of the urgency to pick what he could before the frost killed the last of summer's blooms. He grabbed two handfuls of mixed flowers, cutting them low across the base of the stems. There, he tied a piece of burlap around the bunch, pulling the ends to make a bow.

If he must go court a princess of Seyruun, then he might as well make his trip worthwhile. That night, Derek decided to leave early the next morning for Seyruun's capital. All he needed was a few spare hours to search for the girl in the woods. He wanted to see her again, even if it was just for a minute. Meeting someone so genuine by first glance was a rare specimen. By his own impression, she was the kind of woman who smiled with her eyes, and that their blue-tinted kindness brightened all the forgotten goodness in the world without her needing to say a single word. But reading her eyes was not enough.

He knew nothing could come of his peaked interest. Still, if he knew her name or where she worked or lived, perhaps he would be given a semblance of peace. It was a dangerous decision. Mostly because if he discovered how wonderful he perceived her to be, then there was a chance he'd fail to make it to the Seyruun palace.

Derek pulled out a tiny scarlet velvet box from the inside pocket of his cape. He opened the lid. The princess cut diamond glistened against the smattering of sunlight, its gold band freshly polished. Presenting a ring as a gift to the princess seemed too impromptu. Too fast, too desperate. But Henry maintained girls liked jewelry, especially ones that held a promise. Derek ran his fingers over the edges of the diamond. If he gave her the ring, there was no turning back.

"Who is she? Unless I'm mistaken and those flowers are meant for the princess."

Derek closed the box, alerted by the feminine voice. He sighed at the all-too-familiar presence. He wished she wouldn't watch over him so closely. He wasn't a little boy anymore.

"It's just a gesture of thanks, Mother. That's all," he said, rising to his feet and face her.

Derek's mother, Helena, stood amongst the fog, her starlight hair shimmering against the mist engulfing her face. She examined her youngest son and could not resist grinning at the tousled posy of flowers in his strong hold. She released a soft laugh, gingerly taking the flowers from him and rearranged them in a much neater fashion. Dew dripped from the petals as she tugged and straightened limp stray stems. Then, as she examined her finished work, her smile shrank.

"Where did you meet her?" she asked. "If it's serious then you should at least—"

"I've learned my lesson, Mother. I won't make the same mistake twice."

As he took the flowers from her grasp, she fidgeted with her hands. She brushed back a strand of hair, staring out into the abyss. The lines around her eyes were more than from age but from a husband's domineering control. Every instance she met her son's eyes, she feared he would one day display similar physical fatigue.

"Derek?" Helena called out. He gave her his attention and she continued. "_Please_, don't do this just because your father—"

"This isn't about Father." The prince kept his distance, curling his hand inwardly to himself. "I have a duty to Ralteague. These last few weeks have given me a chance to think this over. It's… a practical decision. An alliance with Seyruun would strengthen our nation. I could give our people more than Father or Peyton would ever vanquish over. If the military has taught me anything, it's the need to sacrifice my own happiness for others' wellbeing. And I intend to uphold my honor."

Helena saw through this chivalrous playwright of nobility. Her eyes full of grief as if she had lost something so dear and precious to her and saw a shadow of its remnants. She mustered the strength to smile, placing her hands atop his toned shoulders. She felt the tight tension of constricted muscles streaming down to his forearms. "You don't need to prove any of that by marrying Philionel's daughter. I know what's in your heart."

One hand moved to the side of his face, motherly fingers running over his cheek. Derek knew her efforts were only to comfort and console, but he wanted nothing to do with them. He was a man now, and he knew she could no longer shelter him from the forever brewing storm. He needed to make the storm dissipate and this was the only way how.

He grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled it down. "I should go."

As Derek's finger released their firm grasp, Helena extended her previously captured hand. She withdrew it silently with shaky eyes, watching him trek back to the castle.

"So soon?" She took a few steps forward, keeping pace despite her long heavy skirts. "The sun has barely risen." She gestured to the congested muted blanket above.

Derek wrapped and pulled his wool scarf closer to his neck. "I'm taking into account any possible delays along the way." He picked up his speed, steps ahead of her. "I will be back in a month."

"But Derek—"

"I will be _fine_, Mother." He turned back, witnessing the failure of his words. Her doubtful expression remained unchanged. He walked back to her, taking her limp hands into his. He gave a small smile. "I wish you wouldn't worry so much."

His too quick smile deepened her concerns. Being the first to hold him in her arms, to have watched him grow up and recognize all his little quirks, to view the moments where joy broke out in uncontainable laughter, to comfort him when tears were unstoppable— Nothing Derek said or did could be concealed furtively from his mother's instinctual suspicions.

"It's my job to worry," she eventually said, her fingers wrapping around his like a mother fox's tail shielding her kits from the cold.

Derek replied with affirming hold before letting go. "Let your worries occupy somewhere needed."

High above the grounds, King Henry stood before his study window. Henry watched his son mount his horse and dash beyond the castle gates, the two morphing into a moving blur by the distortion of the condensation spilling from the fogged glass. When Derek became nothing more than a speck, the king turned to the silent presence, standing in the shadows, as if hiding from the break of sunlight peaking its way into the room.

"Follow him. But be discreet," Henry ordered. "I have yet to let him in on our arrangement. You see my youngest, he holds immense promise— but he has yet to fully learn."

The mysterious figure nodded.

"I will make him knowledgeable once the book is in my possession. And when he has secured Princess Amelia. Until then, I trust you can manage its retrieval on your own without interference?"

A peak of a violet iris popped out among the darkness. "I can assure you, your highness if I am known for anything, it is my discretion of secrets."

* * *

That morning, Zelgadis got dressed in the official royal garbs Ernoldous had laid out for him.

His eyes scanned every inch of his reflection from his standing mirror, adjusting the detailed silver stitched sleeves and collar of his shirt with tight tugs. His duties were to escort Amelia to the throne room, where the suitors were to be formally introduced. Knowing Lina and Gourry all too well, the pair was mostly likely chowing down breakfast in the dining hall, while Phil surveyed any last-minute details of the palace. As for Vonzelle, he had yet to make a confirmed sighting of her. Not that he was dying to know her whereabouts. She was the last person he would willingly seek out.

The pace of the castle had calmed down severely, as if the servants, cooks, and guards, could sit and breathe knowing all preparations were met by their designated deadline. They were probably glad to get it over with. On the contrary, Zelgadis's nerves had plighted him hours before this very day. He knew, however, his dread was not as heavily cloaked as Amelia's. Nor was he ever tactful at hiding his disdain. He supposed royalty was trained to set aside their severe displeasure of pointless polite conversation and mind-numbing negotiations.

Zelgadis leaned back with one foot resting upon the wall. He exhaled and arched his head. If he was relieved about one thing, it was that Amelia permitted his presence during her meeting with that Prince Derek. He surprised himself when he came out and directly told her his concerns. Being direct, generally about most anything, was never out of character for Zelgadis. But being forthright about his feelings, regardless of the implications— he hoped she hadn't read into anything. This was nothing more than an act of protocol. Of keeping her chastity and safety secure.

After all, Phil had divulged in the prince's exceptional looks. Zelgadis had personally seen him in the hall— all right, perhaps he didn't really get a good look at him. More like a glance while he passed on by. He wasn't really paying any heed. But from what he recalled, the prince wasn't sporting bushy brows or an overgrown mustache, so he supposed his good grooming exceeded beyond what Phil thought was acceptable for his own self.

And besides the sudden desire to court, there was the matter with the land agreement. The entire plot drenched in tyranny. This 'request' was all a charade to get Amelia alone. But someone could only manipulate her so far with their appearance alone. If the manipulator were a seasoned expert, he'd use faux pas charisma traipsing over sincere authenticity. Zelgadis's imagination manifested a fuzzy remembrance of this Prince Derek lounging on a sofa. Strategically enclosing in on Amelia's space, saying something 'smooth' about her 'dazzling eyes' all while cleverly working in the land negotiations. The kind of corny line and sweep of an arm across the back of the sofa that would make a girl blush.

But he would be there. So, no 'dazzling eyes' remarks would dare to be breathed.

Two steady knocks resonated from Zelgadis's door. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia's handmaiden must have finished dressing her early. He hastened to smooth out the subtle wrinkles of his shirt.

"Come in," he said.

"Mister Greywords."

The weathered dignified voice left him frozen, midway through one last sweeping gesture of his garbs. When Zelgadis turned his face tightened. Oh, great.

"What?" he asked flatly.

Lady Vonzelle, standing astute with her cane, looked less than thrilled and he equaled her expression in return. "Do an old woman a favor and spare her a few minutes of your time."

Zelgadis stared at her before turning back to the mirror. "I don't believe I would be agreeable company to converse with," he countered, fidgeting with the collar again.

"If I wanted agreeable company I would seek elsewhere. There's an important matter in which I must discuss with you."

Zelgadis peered at his clock. It was twenty-five minutes to noon. "It'll have to wait. I need to escort Amelia to the throne room."

He had only taken two steps before Vonzelle invited herself in. She shut the door. "I'm certain Amelia knows where the throne room is located."

Why did it feel like he was a cornered mouse, ready to be attacked, bludgeoned, and swallowed by an upper handed cat? Zelgadis observed the scrutinizing of Vonzelle's icy eyes as she slowly scanned every inch of his bedroom. What she disapproved of Zelgadis could not tell. In any case, she'd find something to comment on, despite its nitpicky quality.

"Make it fast," he said.

She remained standing in front of the door, placing both her hands over the Cepheid head of her staff. "Philionel tells me you are a great benefit to my family. Despite your sometimes, _infrequent_ presence within the palace. How long would you say have you been employed? Counting only the months you are present."

He paused for a moment. "A year and a half."

"I trust that you keep a close eye on my granddaughter?"

"Only in the parameters a bodyguard should," he answered carefully.

He followed her trail over to the patio doors. She kept her back to him, as if the lack of eye contact concealed the true purpose behind her presence. "My granddaughter speaks very highly of you. She tells me you've done several services for our kingdom. She manages to squeeze you in on every conversation she can. Oh, I doubt she does this on purpose. It's almost as if it comes— _naturally_ to her." Her lips crept with a wily smile. Then, they slipped back into line. "Though I must admit, I find her dewy-eyed accolades to be hopelessly sensationalized."

Zelgadis shrugged. "I wouldn't argue that."

It was true. Amelia tended to use flowery language when her feelings and the forces behind her passion, got carried away. Not that it meant anything serious perse. She exemplified her flowery words about justice, peace, equality, love… Not just him.

"How long do you intend on keeping your position?" Vonzelle suddenly asked.

Another pause followed. Zelgadis crinkled his brow. He wasn't sure what to make of her questioning, but by the sound of the foreboding edge to her tone, he knew it was headed nowhere good.

"What answer would you like to hear?" he instead offered.

Vonzelle met his gaze and wrinkled her nose as if a horrid odor has seeped its ways into the walls. "As you very well know, my granddaughter will be engaged soon. And as her bodyguard, you will be present but distantly involved with not only her but her future family. Can you keep your personal and professional relationship separate?"

"What's it to you?" Zelgadis fired back. "I don't see why foretelling my relationship with Amelia is of any immediate concern."

He retraced the last four weeks back, revisiting the scant encounters he shared with the marchioness. Had he said something to ignite this sudden line of questioning? He couldn't recall any implications that would make someone pause in need of deep reflection. Until now. Zelgadis winced inwardly. He hadn't meant to state him having a _relationship_ with Amelia. He meant friendship. Then again, he often didn't think much of friendship and even more very rarely used the word to describe his aimable interactions with the few people who tolerated his existence.

In any case, Vonzelle appeared less than assured. "I don't appreciate your game, Mister Greywords," she said acridly. The dignified melody of her voice rippled with a cringing note, as if a mistaken key played to startle the ears. Her frown deepened. "I've tried to be delicate about the matter, despite its disagreeable nature. See if you can understand this: my granddaughter is not the royal bedspread and I strictly advise you to remember such."

Zelgadis's jaw dropped. He silently questioned what he heard, his mind playing her last sentence on repetition. He felt the helpless paralysis of its potent punch to his knotted stomach. When he regained mental order, words, at last verbalized. "_Excuse me_—"

"Don't make me repeat myself, young man. I _know_ all and _see_ all."

He felt a profuse heat creep and infiltrate his cheeks. He stopped himself before stammering, to process the preposterous and equally off-color claim the marchioness had made against him. How could she even think that? Better yet, _what_ did he do to make her think that? Had Amelia said something? To make such a bold indelicate statement, without any legitimate verification said more about Vonzelle than either of them.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," was all he could say.

The wrinkles about her cold eyes, woven like intricate spider webs exuded their presence as she narrowed her gaze. "Don't take me for a fool, Mister Greywords. I saw my granddaughter leave your rooms last night. Her hair all tousled, carrying not only her shoes but her _unlaced_ corset." She snorted, looking away. "I can only imagine whose fingers did the untying."

Zelgadis's eyebrows furrowed. "Now look!—"

"I command these late-night dalliances will cease henceforth. And that includes any salacious poetry readings—"

"_Salacious_?" he echoed. A hand graced his tight temples, rubbing them with a baffling headshake. "You've _completely_ misinterpreted what you saw—"

"I was afraid of her attachment becoming too serious." Vonzelle sighed. Her chin jutted into the air with a visible shudder, as if she stumbled upon a decaying body. "It's a hideous subject to divulge into, but these unsavory acts are more common among young ladies than most assume. Even someone as innocent as Amelia can fall prey to the temptations of the flesh. As her grandmother, I will not have her reputation sullied and her body impregnated by a damaged mercenary who has no intention of marrying her nor is acceptable company to begin with."

_Sullied? Impregnated? _And she chided Amelia for having an overactive imagination! Zelgadis could not comprehend what was happening, what he and Amelia were being accused so wrongfully of. It was bad enough Vonzelle had the gall to accuse him based on vague and surmisable concocted judgments, but to slander her own granddaughter— Zelgadis's fist tightened at his side. If she truly knew Amelia as she so claimed to have, then she'd think to reconsider her blazoned allegations.

But Zelgadis remained doubtful. Listening to reason was out of the question. Vonzelle's renitent might have done its duty to upbraid gossipmongering maids, but she was in for a rude awakening if she thought she could slay his indomitable spirit.

"Lady Vonzelle, you have not only lambasted Amelia's character but your impression of her is nothing but false," he said hotly.

Vonzelle simply cocked an eyebrow. "And yours is accurate?"

"Not even close!"

"I know your kind, Mister Greywords," she said with a dyslogistic curled lip. "The 'brooding misunderstood' swordsman. I don't see what it does for young women but somehow, your type holds some sort of— dangerous charm."

He stood by and observed her decrepit fingers glide over his strewn-out sketches upon his table. If her intent was to identify a partial nude of Amelia she'd be sorely disappointed.

"I'm not anyone's 'type'," he snapped, closing in on her space. She stepped back with an outward _humph!_ as he collected his personal drawings tapping them against the tabletop into a neat stack. "You have no right to reach any of these conclusions given you don't have an ounce of proof. If anyone's guilty of anything, it's your snooping and conspiracy theories that will come back to harm people."

"You are an unpleasant man, Mister Greywords," she said.

Now detoured from _snooping_ through his private drawings, her attention fell onto a much more tantalizing recognizable love token. Zelgadis jumped at this, but his hand failed to be as quick as hers. She snatched it with a conceited smile.

_Damn._

"You cannot seriously believe you could ever be with her," Vonzelle hissed, gesturing Amelia's bracelet assertively between her wrinkled vised fingers. "What could you possibly have to offer her that a nobleman couldn't? You are not only a commoner but you're a—"

"I know what I've been turned into," Zelgadis growled. "I don't need the reminder."

"On the contrary, I believe you do. It's remarkably simple to understand; You and my granddaughter are each cut from a different cloth. You are far from king material, Mister Greywords. Seyruun needs a leader of political prowess, nobility, and lineage. You're nothing but a vagabond, thief, and mercenary with no title or upstanding family relations. Yes, I understand Philionel granted you a knighthood— and normally, that would be an acceptable honor, however, given your track record you are the exception to that rule."

Zelgadis's chimeric form made pain a secondary feeling. Something present but not altogether strong enough to recognize. In that moment, pain, a dull piercing ache which had lain dormant (for the exception of infliction by a stronger adversary in battle) manifested. He wanted to blame the tension in his jaw from clenching his teeth so tight. But he knew that wasn't it. He didn't want her words to get to him. For her words to crawl under his skin and raven the marrow of his masked confidence to where only his deepest insecurities lay bare and exposed to the beastly air of societal punishment.

Well, he wouldn't let her know. He would not permit her to witness the sting of her flagrant allegations. He grappled onto his festering hate for classism, for backhanded politics, for insipid men with deep pockets, and privileged women who claim to have seen the entire world yet know little to nothing of its everyday inhabitants.

Prepared to strike back, he fell short as the marchioness confiscated Amelia's bracelet into one of the pockets of her dress.

"You have no right to take that!" he shouted, lunging forward.

"Oh yes I do," Vonzelle argued, standing with shoulders back as they closed in on each other's space. For such a short woman, an opponent with formidable height did not strike fear into her.

"Could you imagine if these trysts were to become open to the public, to the suitors no doubt? With this bracelet as her favor? You would sully my granddaughter's entire reputation. Everything she has worked for.

"Senseless," she muttered under her breath. "Utterly senseless. Her time should not be spent romping in bed with a man who may decide to up and leave simply out of wanderlust."

Yes, he was well versed in marauding noblemen's treasures and ransacking forgotten temples. Writing decrees, socializing with the upper class… he hardly stomached small social gatherings he attended with Amelia. But what did that matter? The last time he checked, he hadn't asked to be suitor. Yet, the agitation persisted. Vonzelle behaved as if he was the embodiment of evil; reckless, careless, _heartless_. As if he sought out pleasure in the ruination of Amelia's life present and future.

Zelgadis's sheltered eye twitched beneath his wiry bangs. "I don't see myself asking to be thrown into the running."

"Which is more reason you save whatever dignity you have left and resign quietly."

Now she had gone too far. He gaped, his eyes sharp and narrowed on the source of his appalment. "Are you_ threatening_ me?" His voice rose an octave. "You have no grounds to—"

"Don't think you can intimidate me with that rehearsed glower of yours, Mister Greywords," she interceded, matching his intimidating stare. "I could tell Philionel what I saw, but based on his meritorious praise, his perception of you is just as skewed as my granddaughter's. Not only that, but the suitors will be here at any moment. The last thing we need is for your clandestine meetings to be advertised before someone who will highly likely join the family."

"There are no clandestine meetings to be advertised!" he, at last, boomed, throwing his hands up into the air. "And on top of that, you're kidding yourself if you honestly think Amelia will marry one of your handpicked inbred simpletons. So long as Amelia opposes, Phil won't allow an arranged marriage. If you haven't noticed, Phil actually _cares_ about his daughter's feelings. Her happiness is what matters to him."

"You, silly boy," Vonzelle hissed. "And here I didn't take you for a complete fool. I know Philionel is unconventional in most respects, but he is a decent and honorable ruler. He knows ultimately, in the end, the kingdom and its people must come first. He won't permit her to dilly-dally much longer."

At that, her face broke out into a smile, an all-knowing smile that mocked and promised another thorough tongue-lashing. Well, Zelgadis wasn't going to endure anymore.

"You know what? Fine." His hands fell, slapping at his sides. He scoffed. "Think whatever you want. There's no use reasoning with someone who's made it their life mission to seek out the worst in everyone who isn't of 'pedigree' quality."

He stormed over to the door, swinging it wide open with another one of his classic glowers. "Now, will you kindly get out of my room before you do find a reason to have me sacked?"

By the rhythmic single taps of his blue finger against the doorknob, it took Vonzelle all but five taps for her to retire their quarreling for another day. She inhaled noticeably through her puffed nostrils, strutting with her chin high in the air. He was ready to slam the door then and there until she froze in the middle of the doorway.

She must have noticed the piqued sincerity into Zelgadis's threat, or she was finished vilifying him because her voice fell quiet. Yet, still controlled. "By the time this visitation is over, Mister Greywords, Amelia _will_ be engaged. And so, my final warning is quite simple; remember _your_ place."

* * *

The crowds gathered in dense clusters along the streets of the white magic capital.

A multitude of bombastic cheers, side conversations, and children dancing between strangers' legs, hopping from place to place to see beyond their towering counterparts, initiated the most anticipated arrivals of the year. Word had spread like wildfire throughout the white magic capital. So much so, storefronts, taverns, and homes were abandoned just to take a glimpse at the very suitor who potentially could be their next king. The invigorated crowd of waving hands amplified once the carriages came into view. Engraved carvings of gold, silver, and bronze glistened along the carriage sides. Pairs of regal draft horses decorated in polished bridals galloped their passengers to the palace gates. Now everybody knew the princess's impending engagement was a reality in the making. It would be of no surprise if high bets were placed as to which lucky suitor would become their future king.

The carriages yielded in a straight line before the palace entrance. Well-dressed men stepped out of their vehicles simultaneously, earning oohs and awes from the servants peeking behind doorways. One by one, they were ushered into the throne room, where the royal announcer and his trusty trumpet, presented each bachelor to Phil and Amelia. They sat in their towering rectangular thrones, while Vonzelle, sat beside her granddaughter in a smaller, but just as decorated and intricately carved chair. Above them draped a silk blue canopy, pinned to the sides to view the royals in their designated thrones. In the center of the room shone a nine-antler chandelier embodied with glimmering crystals and warm lit candles, creating streaks of elegant shadows upon the ceiling.

Zelgadis, Lina, and Gourry sat along the righthand side as spectators. Lina murmured comments into Zelgadis and Gourry's ears regarding the gifts the gentlemen towed in. The gifts were of little concern to Zelgadis. He kept his focus on Amelia, regardless of Vonzelle's casual peering from the corner of his eye. His thoughts festered with irritation, observing the expectation of her to rise for each suitor, receive a kiss on the hand, make polite exchanges, and then accept whatever frivolous gift they perceived she'd fawn over. She had done this four times in a row. He only assumed how relieved she would be for the fifth and final introduction.

Before the clock struck noon, all but one suitor arrived.

Waiting, with patience steadily wavering, they remained seated in the throne room. The awkward silence of the new company etched its way into everyone's jittery hand and intensifying sighs. Outside, the evoked blustering winds kept the most attention. The barren tree branches swung back and forth like shackling bones and shrubs shuddered and wept leaves like mourning lovers. The dull shade of blue above became muddled as dark charcoal shadows filtered out the autumn sunlight.

A suitor dug into his pant pocket, flipping open a pocket watch. "It seems Prince Derek is running late," Viscount Manston grumbled, clicking the device shut.

The viscount made himself at home on his chair; One arm perched itself on the back of the chair, revealing the pulled button threads across his snug jacket. He caressed his two furry chins out of boredom, before running the same hand on top of his baren sweaty head, surrounded by shrubs of slicked hair on each side.

"Looks like he'll be caught in the windstorm," Lord Tatum commented, his seat closest to the window. By the earl's feet lay a lean streamline wolfhound, whose long-feathered tail was comparable to his master's dishwater blonde low hanging ponytail.

"Perhaps he has been blown away," Lord Savill chortled, amusing himself as he fidgeted with the jeweled rings adorning each finger. The sides of his face were lawned with thick blunt sideburns, matching the earthy brushed caterpillars perched above his bright emerald eyes.

Vonzelle's wrinkles tightened from each corner of her lip. "I apologize on behalf of the prince's tardiness."

With pursed lips, she tried to keep her impatience at bay. Distractions about the throne room, however, only worsened her diminishing tolerance. If it was not Mister Gabriev's fluttering eyelids or premature yawns it was Lord Tatum's dog, who he brought along without as much as asking, heavily panting with droplets of saliva seeping from the crevasses of his pointed canines.

She scrunched her nose, holding back a moan of disgust. Instead, her eyes swiveled like sharpened daggers onto her son-in-law. Phil merely shrugged at her and when she gestured for him to come over to her in which he obeyed.

"Philionel," she whispered. "I do not see the purpose in waiting for someone who fails to respect the basic guidelines of social decency."

"This isn't typical of him, Mother," Phil assured, near her ear. "Usually the boy is very timely. Arrives early most of the time."

"Well, today isn't his lucky day," she remarked, tapping her fingers against the armrest of the chair.

"I have an idea!" A suddenly lively Count Savill commanded attention in the grandiose room, slamming his oxblood shoes against the floor. The acoustic's echo bounced off the thick impenetrable walls. "To pass the time, why don't we all play a game? I know! Let's take turns and guess how much longer the prince intends to leave us in suspense. I'll start and say— another half an hour." He turned to the occupied chair next to him. "How about you, Viscount Manston?"

"You are bad, Count Savill," Viscount Manston chuckled.

"Well, I don't mind waiting," Lord Tatum smiled. He glanced about the room with bright eyes and a quirk of his thin womanly lips, acknowledging all present parties. "It gives us all a chance to get to know each other."

A smarmy smirk merged from the corner of Count Savill's lip. "Yes. Perhaps we'll exchange addresses and become pen pals by the time this visitation is over."

"I don't see a reason to complain when we have such pleasant company before us."

All heads swiveled to the outspoken Lord Esmour Bardolf, who appeared content by the presence of Amelia and her grandmother. It was the first time that morning Vonzelle smiled genuinely during her entire visitation. Of course, it was expected of her to beam a pink shade of pride at her forever approved candidate.

Lord Bardolf's skin radiated a shade only the sun's beating rays could bestow, adorned with what looked like three noticeable discolored scaley birthmarks. One of the pied blotches enveloped his right cheekbone, extending over to the bottom lobe of his ear. The second dotted his chin bone, the other scattered into speckles below his left eye. Dark auburn ringlets fell along the sides of his heart-shaped face. His nose dove into a long-crooked slope with a visible kink near the tip and his eyes were as deep and stormy as tidal waves. If it hadn't been for his title as duke, Vonzelle wouldn't have even considered him a candidate by looks alone.

Viscount Manston folded his arms across his chest. "Pleasant company or not, my Lord, I do not appreciate waiting for a meal."

"Neither do I," Lina mumbled to herself. Her attention ventured over towards Amelia, who sat with forced posture, yet her eyes told of bubbling anxiety. Lina frowned. "Poor, Amelia." She turned to scan each suitor. She curled a lip. "These are the guys she has to choose from for a _husband_? Pretty slim pickings if you ask me."

"Well, I know who'd you choose, Lina," Gourry said, joining in on her musing thoughts.

She made a face, turning to him. "What are you talking about, Gourry?"

"You'd pick Prince whatshisface. The guy you whistled at."

"You mean the guy _you_ whistled at," she corrected, poking her index finger into his firm chest. "After all, he thinks it was you."

Gourry blanched, stiff in his chair. "Oh, no! I forgot about that!"

"Will you two stop it, please?" Zelgadis groaned, his arms folded close to his chest.

He tapped his index finger along his opposite upper arm, his eyes subtly peering to Amelia then to the window before him. As he peeked, he noticed Amelia subtly shimmy the bustier of her dress up to where only the peak of her cleavage expressed itself near her collarbone. He then heard an oily snicker. As he looked forward, he found Lord Manston's engaged eyes in Amelia's direction, smirking. Zelgadis gripped the seat of his chair. It took all his inner strength to keep his mouth shut, grinding his teeth together. Swine like Lord Manston gave men a bad name.

And sitting among swine like Lord Manston and waiting for another squealing hankering swine made the event more intolerable. Zelgadis never endorsed the hoopla people made for higher society. In particular, having to sit by and wait for deluded preeminent noblemen as if he had nothing else better to do. And to make matters worse, while he sat with potential usurper's abound, only fifteen feet of separation kept Zelgadis from wanting to strangle the posh cow whose determination to rid him from the castle was as spirituous as his hunt for his cure.

Zelgadis did his best to make little eye contact as possible. Her dedication to see him packing gave her ample opportunity by any means necessary. He needed to be careful. A twitch of the mouth or a crease in the brow in her slightest direction could have provided credence to her conjured story. If he wished to come out on the other side without losing residency or teeth from a confrontation with explosive Phil no doubt, Zelgadis decided to stomach through the charade of suitors. He'd focus solely on his position, standing by quietly and guarding Amelia. If the necessity arose for a moment of privacy, he'd have to be sneaky. And he hated to have to do so. But Vonzelle made herself a formidable adversary. Proof or not, her words could do damage to his title and trust with Phil. When the opportunity shone a path of light his way, he'd explain Vonzelle's radical conclusions to Amelia. And eventually, Phil too. Even if both conversations left him with flushed cheeks and broken sentences.

All heads turned by the sound of squeaky hinges from the throne room doors. Phil's manservant, Edward, stepped into the room. All sat on the edge of their seats, eyes locked onto Edward as he ventured over to the crown prince. He gave a dutiful bow before his ruler and adjusted his throat. "Prince Derek has arrived, your highness."

"Thank you, Edward." Phil beamed a confident smile at Vonzelle. "See Mother, he made it on time!"

She huffed, unimpressed. "Yes, and with three minutes to spare."

"It's about time he showed up," Lina said, louder than she intended. Her voice quieted. "I mean, he lives the closest to Seyruun. You'd think he would have been the first one to arrive."

Gourry's eyebrow rose. "You're that anxious to see him?"

"Don't be stupid," she glared. "I'm just as curious as everyone else. That's all."

The royal announcer took position for what he hoped would be the fifth and final time for the day. He blew his trumpet and proceeded. "Presenting his royal majesty, Prince Derek Uttam Benedict Ackerley, of Ralteague. Son of his royal highness King Henry and Queen Helena Ackerley!"

Every seat was abandoned, standing at attention for the prince. Sets of anticipating eyes locked onto the opening set of sturdy adorned doors. The prince waltzed in with a militaristic gate and precision. By his slightly disheveled appearance and roughly smoothed out hair, it appeared he rode on horseback combating the escalating winds and their allies of pugnaciously swaying trees.

Amelia braced herself, but as the prince came into focus, she found herself unprepared. She instantly gaped, her facial muscles slacked, and her eyes wide. _It's him! The man from the woods!_

The same crimson cap, the same black leather riding boots, the same distinguished strong chin, the same warm hazel irises…She thought her eyes were deceiving her, but a few blinks verified it was indeed him. The man, now known as _the prince_ of Ralteague, was the very one she aided and if she was going to be honest with herself, cast as one of the dashing heroes in her guilty pleasure novels.

"Close your mouth, Amelia," Vonzelle admonished in a harsh whisper.

But she could not. Instead, she brought a hand to cover her gaping mouth. Her visible chest heaved, pearls rattling together in waves upon her rising and falling breasts. Her hand slowly withdrew into a softly curled fist, falling to her side. She felt foolish for not recognizing him in the woods. Had he done the same? He did not behave as if he knew of her. Was their last encounter so long ago that they had forgotten what had transpired when they were children? She pressed herself to think harder, to replay the foggy memories of the Ralteague royal family's visitation. She could not recall why hot tears engulfed her eyes. But she believed, the prince had to be the boy. The boy with flowers.

Anxious flittering eyes fixed themselves onto the prince. She rose on the tips of her heels as if to get his attention, waiting for him to follow with a similar reaction. When he met her gaze, she caught a flashing glimpse of dilated bewildered pupils. He kept the rest of his face intact, his lips evenly lined and his posture stoic and controlled. Still, Amelia could feel the silent tension, entwined, communally between an understanding of sudden comprehension.

Immediately keened, Zelgadis exchanged his attention between the prince and then to Amelia. He frowned with a pinched expression at Amelia's strange reaction. What on earth made her gape at this Prince Derek's presence? Had his Grecian qualities left her paralyzed in heightened physical admiration? He squelched the thought. No. Amelia wouldn't have been taken by him in mere seconds. So, what was it then?

"Prince Derek," Phil acknowledged with a nod. "Thank you for coming."

The crown prince's rumbling voice broke Derek free from his trance. He turned to Phil and bowed. "Crown Prince Philionel, my humblest apologies for running late."

"There is no need to apologize," Phil replied, motioning for him to rise. "I can see our weather has reared its ugly head. I understand you ride horseback. I hope your journey here wasn't too hazardous."

"On the contrary, I prefer the open air. Carriages are for frail old—"

Derek stopped himself short. From the corner of his eye, he witnessed the start of dripping resentment from his majesty's mother-in-law's blister-inducing glare. "Not for everyone," he finished awkwardly.

"I see you did not come empty-handed," Phil observed.

Behind the prince, Edward brought in a small stack of three neatly wrapped packages. Derek took them from the man, thanking him. He then focused back onto Phil. "Uh, yes. A gift for you and the Marchioness, your majesty."

He dipped his head out of respectful formality, handing the crown prince two out of three offerings. As Phil passed one to Amelia to give to Vonzelle, the marchioness scrutinized the silk ribbon and evenly creased edges of the paper.

"A gift for me?" she asked blatantly. "Why? You most certainly aren't courting me!"

Her outward constricting remark ensued a chorus of chuckles from the rivaling suitors. Their arbitrary eyes and viperous whispers circled behind the prince like a pack of ravenous wolves.

"Well, of course not. Why would I?—" He paused, wincing to himself at his choice of words. He swallowed, trying again. "I mean, not that you're not attractive— It's just you're—"

"May I remind you I'm _extremely_ married, young man," Vonzelle warned, as if seriously in danger of being pursued by a man young enough to be her grandson.

The laughter returned for an encore. Derek sighed deeply through his mouth. "Yes, well…." He adjusted his throat for another time.

"What is this said gift?" Vonzelle cut to the chase, sighing in exhaustion by the mere entertainment of his fumbling words.

"It's a book on Elmekia antiques." When Derek received no response but a blank cold stare, he expanded. "Prince Philionel mentioned you like Elmekia antiques."

"And I did," Phil concurred. He spared the prince from any further embarrassment, ordering Edward to place both he and Vonzelle's gifts to the side. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness. Now, I'd like you to meet my Amelia."

With one motion of his hand, Amelia rose for her father, leaving her seat. She stood before the prince; hands clasped together with an even but surprisingly bright smile gracing her face. Her cobalt eyes glistened a similar shimmer as her modest crown.

"It's an honor to see you again, Princess Amelia." Derek simply bowed before her with no attempt to kiss her hand. At least he was aware to avoid any sort of nauseating clichés.

Amelia curtseyed in return. "And to you as well, Prince Derek."

"I understand our memories of each other must be foggy, so I hope to become reacquainted with you during my stay," he said, rising to his full height.

"I would like the same," she agreed, keeping a reserved essence about her.

"If your father finds it acceptable, I have a gift for you as well, Princess."

Phil nodded, permitting the nobleman to proceed with his generous offering. She undid the ribbon with ease, tearing off the paper to find a gift incomparable to the gem-encrusted jewelry she received an hour earlier.

"I was under the impression that you enjoyed reading," Derek said, watching with mild uncertainty. "I don't know how fascinated you are with plants, but I thought perhaps a book on herbal benefits for healing might aid in your white magic capabilities."

Amelia skimmed through the pages, her fingers running down a list of ingredients for what looked like useful remedies. She smiled to herself, closing the book and holding it close to her chest. He thought of her. Unknowingly that she and the healer in the woods were one in the same. Evidently, she had left an impression on him. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. She felt herself startled by the induced reaction, calling for rational to calm herself. Then, she wondered. If this book on herbal medicine was intended for the girl in the woods, then what was her original gift?

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness. It will be put to good use. Thank you," she said, pushing the question back in her mind.

He cast an equally genuine smile, falling silent as if lost in a lighthearted trance. It didn't take long for his formal self to click back into gear, reminding himself of one more favor, tucked inside his satchel. "Oh, and these are for you." He presented her with the hand-cut cluster of wildflowers, though their condition was of lesser quality than of that morning. "I apologize. They're a little disheveled from the journey—"

"They're lovely," Amelia assured, her fingers rummaging and sensing the various textures and colors of the aromatic blooms. "Much better than anything from the hothouse. And I like the touch of the bow too.

"Mister Edward?" she called, turning to Phil's manservant. The older man approached. "Would you please give these flowers to Miss Luella? I would like her to put them in my room. On my vanity, so I can see them. Thank you."

Zelgadis's lips tightened, though desperately crying to burst from the seams and gawk. Phil described the prince as structured and determined. Here, he was riddled with nerves. Zelgadis could thank Vonzelle for morphing him into a tongue-tied meek mess. She had a way of disabling even the most reticent individual. He had learned that all too well this morning.

Even so, this Prince Derek still managed to have the upper hand. Well, Zelgadis mused, if he had thoughtfully planned this meet and greet, which Zelgadis was almost positive he did, he was doing a bang-up job. The other noblemen traveled down the cliché route of expensive chocolates and glistening statement earrings. Here, this Prince Derek considered who Amelia was as a person, her interests, her pursuits… Could he have come to this conclusion based on the one playdate years ago? Zelgadis shook his head. There had to be more to the story.

What was this guy's angle anyhow? Could he truly be an oddball amongst a sea of habitually shallow dignitaries? Or was there indeed something up his sleeve? Was he really taken with Amelia or was it just the abandoned throne directly behind her that activated his charming mask?

Or was he simply _looking_ for a reason not to trust the prince?

"Wow, the prince is really making a good impression on Amelia. More so than the others," Lina whispered, cuffing her hand for only Gourry and Zelgadis to hear. "And here I thought he was going to come in with his own parade of servants carrying jewels for her. I wonder what she makes of all this."

Zelgadis cast a glare to the back of the prince's head. For once, he didn't know how to answer.

* * *

**A/N Continued:** Thank you for reading all the way through! Now, onto the luncheon and ball! I knew in this chapter I wanted to include the confrontation between Zelgadis and Vonzelle before the suitors arrived, to further propel his impending motivation and perhaps his albeit, stubborn acknowledgment regarding his feelings for Amelia. I'm excited to see where his intentions and thoughts will lead me in chapter ten. And Amelia's too!

Until then, I send my best wishes. Stay safe and healthy everyone! :)


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